


How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps!

by staytrashy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Bokuto Koutarou, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, College, Confessions, Crushes, Eventual Smut, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Height Differences, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Kuroo Tetsurou, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Self-Lubrication, Sharing Clothes, listen here bud that .9 of an inch is very important to me, you know the good shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staytrashy/pseuds/staytrashy
Summary: The wooing of Bokuto Koutarou, or, alternatively, the one where Kuroo Tetsurou takes relationship advice from a teen omega magazine.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i remember last summer my two best friends of 11+ years came down to visit me, and we were relaxing in my room when one of my friends, she pipes up ‘guys, whats ABO?’. My other friend immediately responded, in the most disgusted tone of voice, ‘its gross its basically a mpreg and male lactation kink’, and I’m over here sweating bullets when he looks me dead in the eye and he asks ‘you agree, right?’ and here i am

The blazing sun angrily bore down upon the quaint little shopping district’s roads and concrete sidewalks, encouraging window shoppers to take refuge in air-conditioned stores less they desired to roast alive in the early-August heat. Though there was a mild draft that whistled between the stores, it was not enough to refresh the day crowd, and the heat waves caused many passersby to fan their burning faces.

On this hot summer day, saddled between a book store and a tailor shop, sat a charming little coffee shop whose doors rang merrily whenever customers entered and exited. Seated inside, taking sanctuary from the irate sun’s rays, sat a certain pair, one of whom was currently engrossed in a newly released game title and the other whom was watching two other customers like a hawk, much to his day shopping partner’s chagrin.

“Stop staring at him so intensely, you are starting to scare me,” Kenma sighed with a touch of frustration before turning his attentions back to his PSP, not even sparing Kuroo a fleeting glance. In order to project his obvious discomfort, the beta sat in his wooden chair with his shoulders scrunched inwards and his sleeveless hoodie drawn over his head. It was Kenma’s own confrontation-free way of protesting the sudden detour into the bustling coffee shop, but Kuroo easily disregarded his bitching in favor of continuing said staring.

The resulting silence that enveloped their cozy table was only broken by the quiet clicking sounds of Kenma’s fingers pressing the portable player’s buttons and the general background noise of clanking latte machines and chatting customers. The rustic smell of the quaint shop was faintly saturated with ground mocha beans and freshly baked pastries that tempted Kuroo’s self-discipline, and the little hole in the wall shop had a steady bustle of people entering and leaving.

Summer vacation had begun and released students from the hell known as educational learning a few weeks prior, so the coffee shop was filled with more giggling teenagers and young adults than normal, much to Kenma’s dislike if his scrunched brows said anything. But the beta was just extra grumpy because Kuroo had spontaneously deviated from their original course of action.

For the next three days Kenma was visiting relatives that just so happened to live near the town outside of Kuroo’s college campus, and Kuroo had promised to show the short dude the nearby gaming stores. Well, he swore that had been his original promise, but the plans were interrupted when Kuroo had spotted _him_.

He and Kenma had been walking down the stifling, crowded streets and simply enjoying each other’s well-missed company (apparently, he rarely saw his friends if said friend was still a 3rd year in high school and he himself was in college) when Kuroo had snapped out an arm and caught Kenma by the shoulder, bringing the shorter dude to a stumbling halt. The beta had lifted his head up from where he had been texting, raising an eyebrow nearly elegantly, but all Kuroo could do was gesture emphatically forwards.

Thankfully the setter’s eyes had followed his flailing hand gesture to spot an all too familiar face holding open the door to the coffee shop for a certain Shirofuku Yukie. Years of friendship finally paid off when understanding had dawned upon his friend’s facial features. Kenma knew exactly what he was trying to convey with his speechless pointing and, albeit with an exhausted sigh, allowed Kuroo to roughly drag him through the doors and seat themselves as far away as possible from the other two.

Ignoring the huff of vexation that left Kenma’s mouth, Kuroo peeped over the edge of the colorful magazine he held purposely in front of his face, disguising himself only somewhat suspiciously. Normally, he’d feel the tiniest smidgeon of guilt for dragging around his precious childhood friend, but there were more pressing matters at hand, and these matters included such pressing matters as why the hell had Bokuto not noticed him yet?

His eyes narrowed in on the two certain figures seated across the coffee shop who were comfortably chatting and undoubtedly catching up while they ate several varieties of toasted paninis and freshly baked muffins. The old Fukurodani manager had a sly expression on her face as she leaned back in her chair and no doubt said something freaking hilarious, because Bokuto’s face broke out into a grin.

Since the moment they entered the coffee shop, Kuroo had been preparing his ‘ _oh, I didn’t see you there, bro_ ’ speech for when the alpha would obviously take notice of him and consequently walk on over to say hi. Kuroo had been practicing his facial expressions --suave and relaxed-- along with the wording in his head, but there was a tiny problem that was starting to upset him: Neither Bokuto nor Yukie had even glanced in their direction.

How the hell were they not noticing him? For god’s sake, with his magazine propped up and covering his face, he appeared like he belonged in some dinky and outdated spy movie. The… colorful magazine was also hard to miss. He had plucked the wretched newspaper from the magazine stand that stood by the coffee shop’s door to use for cover, and its front page was a vomit of pink and purple. It was a beacon that drew attention, and only upon sitting down had Kuroo noticed the enlarged _Omega Teen Magazine_ title in a nauseatingly flowery Microsoft Word font smacked onto the cover page. How fitting for him.

And not to mention that Kenma, _who was supposed to be back home in Tokyo_ , was sitting right here. Kuroo’s focus slid over to his childhood friend, his eyes narrowing further in contemplation. It was the setter’s hood, wasn’t it? Would Bokuto have recognized them sooner if, in his sharp peripheral vision, he noticed the beta’s contrasting black and dyed blonde hair?

Probably feeling Kuroo’s eyes on him, Kenma finally dragged his gaze from his game and Kuroo pretended not to take notice of the accompanying look of disgust shining in his friend’s narrowed golden pupils. “You’re acting like a stalker, Kuro,” the beta stated flatly. “You probably saw him this morning, after all you are roommates. You know, nothing is scarier than an omega stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker,” Kuroo immediately protested with only the tiniest amount of defensiveness. And before Kenma could remark with the cliché, and frankly overused, ‘that’s exactly what a stalker would say’ comeback, Kuroo revealed his true -- _innocent_ \-- intentions with a blasé shrug, “I just wanted to surprise him. See his dumbfounded look.” Really, it was nothing special, and certainly nothing that screamed omega stalker with an unrequited crush, so Kenma could kindly put down his eyebrow raise of suspicion.

Shit, man, he just wanted to surprise his friend before he invited the alpha to join them on their afternoon excursion (no doubt, Bokuto would probably want to say hello to Kenma before the beta left for home), but Kenma was eyeing him as if he had mentally snapped like a lovesick omega in those trashy reality tv shows that Kuroo may or may not be heavily addicted too. But, unlike in those overdramatized shows, Kuroo was a big boy omega who knew that the chances of having his crush requited were lower than the probability of Kenma not judging him for spending five thousand yen buying the latest two seasons of _The Real Omegawives of Shizuoka_ last week.

Kenma opened his mouth, probably about to pry unwelcomingly into Kuroo’s love troubles that the omega wouldn’t admit to having, but the setter was fortunately distracted when his cellphone quietly vibrated with an incoming text. Immediately the setter dropped his PSP onto his lap and snatched up his phone from its resting place on the polished wooden countertop while Kuroo flicked his gaze towards the ceiling and wordlessly thanked whoever had assisted him in avoiding Kenma’s calculating looks.

While Kenma’s fingers became blurs flying across his phone screen, the faint sound of Bokuto’s laughter caught Kuroo’s attention. Damn Kenma for distracting him and wasting precious seconds. This was a race against the clock as Yukie and Bokuto happened to be both certified gluttons, and he had limited time here before they ravenously polished off their meals and went their merry way.

The alpha was still laughing, much to the annoyance of the customers seated around them, and he had braced a hand on their own table for support as the female beta proudly puffed out her chest. The bright-eyed ace smiled widely, showing off a flash of sharp canine teeth, and Kuroo desperately fired off telepathic brain signals Bokuto’s way, urging the dude to spot him.

With his hands clenching the atrociously gaudy pages of the magazine in his grasp, Kuroo tried everything; he tried inwardly screaming Bokuto’s name, he tried sending thoughts of volleyballs pounding into the court’s floor with vicious speed, he tried transferring images of steaming barbequed beef, and he even tried conveying pile after pile of the stupid hair gel Bokuto practically bathed in every morning that made his white and black locks ridiculously hard to the touch --like goddamn they could poke a man’s eye out.

His concentration shattered, however, when he saw Bokuto excitedly bite off nearly half of his panini as he listened attentively to Yukie’s next story. The dude was going to choke one of these days, and when he did Kuroo would be there to laugh at him. Kuroo snorted, amused, as he gently shook his head and relaxed his tightening grip on the poor rumpled teen magazine. So, apparently telepathic communication wasn’t going to work, much to his dismay. How disappointing, he had thought he and Bokuto shared a bond that transcended what was physically conceivable on this mortal realm.

Both a little disheartened and bored, Kuroo dropped his magazine down flat on the tabletop and, after glancing at the time on his phone, decided it was now the appropriate time to bother Kenma. Sixty seconds ago when Kenma had willingly tried to talk to him? No, it hadn’t been the right time then, plus Kuroo hadn’t appreciated the snarky behavior. But now? Yes, yes it was, it had indicated so on his clock.

The beta was still wholly enraptured by his phone as he faithfully waited for a reply. Much to Kuroo’s mounting interest, Kenma’s shoulders had finally relaxed and he had ceased his anxious glances directed at random passersby, though his hood still hid most of his face. Kenma’s expression was doing that whole Happy Kenma Look™ thing, the one where his widened eyes sparkled and his lips trembled as he pressed them tightly together. It was a look Kuroo had only grown familiar with within the past two years.

“Heh,” Kuroo breathed with a growing smirk as he leaned subtly closer, which was met with Kenma immediately snapping his head up and flipping his phone screen towards his clothed chest so the omega couldn’t sneak a quick glance. Kuroo’s smirk only grew at the protective gesture and he purred lowly, “Are you texting that orange-haired omega shrimp of yours?”

“Yes,” Kenma deadpanned with non-so-subtle distrust marring his tone as he clutched his phone closer. How disrespectful, it was as if his dear, precious childhood friend thought Kuroo would cruelly betray the trust they had painstakingly developed over a decade of friendship by snatching the beta’s phone to spy on his texts. “Why do you ask?”

How dare Kenma think so lowly of him for, after all, Kuroo was a matured man. As he stated previously, he was a big boy omega now, and he was far more mature than he had been in high school approximately only a few months prior. He was a _university student_ now, and university students didn’t childishly steal stuff out of people’s hands. No, he would have waited until Kenma placed his phone back on the table before he nabbed it and then held it above Kenma’s laughably short reach as he quickly flicked through the text messages. How dare Kenma not mistakenly place trust in him.

Kuroo, his haughty smirk slowly melting off, observed Kenma’s defiant expression for a few seconds before sighing a simple, “No reason.” He petulantly puckered his lips as his fingers twitched and absentmindedly picked at the bottom corner of his magazine. Damn, the setter wasn’t as embarrassed as Kuroo had hoped he would be; he was no fun anymore.

During Kuroo’s third year of high school, Kenma had been so much more fun to tease when the beta was still attempting to scrounge up the courage to officially ask Karasuno’s precious omega blocker out on a date. Whenever Kuroo purposely managed to drag Hinata’s name into the conversation, Kenma would stiffen like he’d just had a stick shoved up his ass, and then he’d nail him with a wide-eyed look akin to terror. It had simply delighted the omega to no end to witness these new, love-struck induced, emotions on his once indifferent friend. And now what? Now that he’d been dating the orange-haired pipsqueak for six months, he was suddenly over the novel, embarrassed lovers stage? They grew up so fast.

And so what if a tiny, hidden part of Kuroo was envious of his friend? Though he’d rather saw off his pinky fingers with a dull butter knife than ever admit that he secretly admired the shorter dude’s guts to actually ask his crush out. And, honestly, sometimes Kuroo felt like he was living vicariously through Kenma’s own love adventures. While Kenma had been facing this whole ‘unrequited love’ thing head on like a true man, Kuroo had been traveling the coward’s route and desperately avoiding his own feelings by going on a handful of dates with some random alphas from Nekoma.

And while it turned out that Hinata miraculously shared Kenma’s feelings —perhaps a little too passionately considering Hinata nearly barreled Kenma over when the blocker threw himself at the setter— Kuroo wasn’t progressing even a millimeter in his failed dates because he never stopped thinking of a certain Fukurodani ace. The dates would inevitably end with Kuroo accidentally dropping ice cream on their crotch (apparently, this was an unforgivable act when your cargo pants were WTAPS) or nearly avoiding giving his date’s own mother, lovely lady, a concussion (long story). Thanks a lot, _Bokuto_.

So, yeah, maybe his little omega heart was a little envious of his childhood friend’s warm and disgustingly functional love life. Again, not that he’d tell another soul. Throw out the dull butter knife, Kuroo would rather saw off his pinky with a deflated volleyball then reveal his secret. But no matter how spiteful he was, it truthfully didn’t matter because Kuroo had no intentions of confessing his undying love to his alpha roommate and best friend.

... But, that being said, how _did_ Kenma do it? How’d his Kenma, his socially awkward friend whom he’d used to forcefully drag to the volleyball courts, grow a pair before Kuroo? The thought was as inspiring as it was perplexing, and it simply did not register in his head.

Kuroo propped his right elbow against the tabletop and dropped his cheek into the palm of his hand as his expression turned serious. Curiosity had begun churning in his gut, and what started as a slow simmer quickly boiled. “How’d you do it?” Kuroo practically spluttered out, his words rushed as a need to _know_ gripped him.

“Do what?” Kenma asked with perhaps more wariness than warranted while he slowly placed his phone onto his lap, before his expression melted into something horrified. “Are you...” the beta voice suddenly disturbed and defensive, “... are you trying to ask how we _do it_?”

Kuroo‘s own expression adopted one of similar horror. “Get your mind out of the gutter!” He whisper-shouted as he  reached across table with his free hand and lightly rapped his knuckles against his friend’s temple as if that would aid in the knocking out of dirty thoughts. The beta had the gall to look insulted by the breach of personal space (Kenma deserved it though, he was the one thinking naughty, dirty things with a bashful, innocent, good-hearted, pure omega sitting right in front of him), and he whacked Kuroo’s hand away with a sharp smacking sound.

Kuroo squawked unattractively at the unexpected sting as he pulled his reddening hand back. The worst part of this situation was that Kuroo had no fucking clue why Kenma had gotten so defensive. Was it over the fact that someone was asking about his omega in a sexual manner or was it because Kenma thought Kuroo was insinuating a beta-omega pair couldn’t ‘do it’ normally? His gut twisted uncomfortably —he didn’t want to know. There’s no way in hell he’d ever want to know what those two did in the bedroom. Shit, the quiet ones were always the kinkiest, so who knew what abnormal things went on in their private rooms.

He pouted for a solid five more seconds, just to really rub in the fact that he totally did not approve of the beta’s unwarranted abuse, before he defended himself, “That’s not what I meant, pervert. I meant how did you gather up the courage to confess? Just asking, no reason,” He added the last part perhaps a little too quickly. He was merely asking for the sake of curiosity, and he definitely wasn’t going to apply Kenma’s answer to his own life, guaranteed.

If his following deadpan stare said anything, it said Kenma was not convinced, which was really unfortunate because Kuroo had his signature Cool Guy Reputation to keep up. After pinning Kuroo with a stare that screamed he’d been seen through and effectively crushed Kuroo’s remaining dignity, Kenma exhaled heavily through his nose and bit his lower lip in thought. “I,” he replied after a long second, carefully measuring each word, “I don’t think I can answer that question.”

Gaping at the cowardly cop out, Kuroo went to immediately protest the not-an-actual-answer, his mouth already open to cry ‘bullshit!’, but he was silenced when Kenma shook his head. “Kuro, listen to me,” he continued seriously. “This is something you have to figure out and do your own way, okay? You can’t use my experiences because everyone is a little different. I’m truly sorry, I know it’s not easy.”

He didn’t want to admit it but, dammit, that made sense. “But I wish it was easy,” Kuroo whined in reply as he dejectedly slumped further into his propped hand, Kenma only nodding in a rather lackluster show of consolidation. His eyes flicked downwards to stare blankly at the brightly colored magazine spread before him, and the fuzzy photographs of obnoxiously cheerful middle schoolers with braces smiled back, unblinking. He could feel Kenma watching him carefully, and he wanted to tell the setter to not worry and go back texting his cute requited love, but he was too busy engaging in an intense staring contest between himself and this one pretentious ass looking female omega teen printed on the magazine page.

As Kuroo mentioned earlier, three times now (three was too many, it sort of felt like he was trying to convince himself now) he was a big boy omega, and he was simply content to have Bokuto in his life. Hell, he was lucky enough to get accepted into the same college as the ace, especially considering that Bokuto had gone pro and the university had just so happened to have a renowned program in sports strategy and sales statistics. Kuroo considered every single damn day a good day when he could simply walk into their kitchen to find Bokuto complaining about their cruddy ice machine maker that froze the ice cubes into a solid block; in response Kuroo would always offer to beat the ice machine up for its treachery, and Bokuto would always tell him to hold off until he got a couple of swings in himself.

But, alright, sometimes he did wish it was easy.

And, as if by some brilliant display of divine intervention, that was when Kuroo’s unfocused gaze caught the words ‘easy’ and ‘alpha’ off of the printed magazine page below him. Yeah, exactly, he wished it was easy to confess to this dorky alpha --wait a damn second…

Expression blank, the omega blinked. The words, in what appeared to be in a horrendous purple gel pen font, was a part of a larger headline that said ‘How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps! An Omega Teen Magazine Exclusive!’. Kuroo read the headline a solid nine more times, his brain attempting to digest the words and create meaning out of them, just to certify that his love-bogged omega mind hadn’t fashioned an illusion that could earn him a seat in a pricey psychiatrist’s office.

Eyes never leaving the magazine, Kuroo felt his body straighten in his seat and he lifted his cheek out of his hand while he fixed the headline with a distrustful scowl. No, no, he refused to believe both the uncanny comedic timing and the publisher’s false promises. _I’m not going to read this garbage_ , Kuroo told himself as he lightly pulled said garbage closer to him.

Oh, come on, he wasn’t really going to read the senseless article, was he? He might be an omega himself, but there was gaping chasm of a difference between him and the young tween omegas who gushed about their future kids’ names (what fools, they didn’t even entertain the idea of the financial stability needed to raise a healthy child) and dreamily wished upon falling stars for their alpha crushes to fall in love with them (there was a possibility that Kuroo had once been the latter, but he had heavily bribed Kenma to carry that certain secret to his earthly grave).

University student, remember? University students did not read magazines targeted towards teenage omegas, especially if it was filled with cliché relationship advice they probably plagiarized from another issuer and top ten lists dedicated to ranking the calf muscles of alpha celebrities –Kuroo might have to check that one out later, just so he could laugh at the stupidity of the article, of course. Just because he was still technically the magazine’s target demographic, as he was not turning twenty for the next three months, did not mean he should or would read his utter horseshit.

The fact that he immediately began reading the article just really highlighted his lack of self-control. 

_”How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps! An Omega Teen Magazine Exclusive!”_

_Do you have a ridiculously big crush on one single alpha for, what you feel like has been, a million gagillion years? Are you tired of them just not noticing your second gender? If so, we understand! You’ve tried everything to get your alpha crush to notice you, but nothing seems to be working! Sadly, in this situation, it is easy for someone to start questioning their own self-worth, and you’ve started thinking ‘am I not a good enough omega for him or her?’. If it gets really bad, you could start thinking that your priceless love and affection will never be requited, and you could begin trying to convince yourself that you are happy with your pitiable love life_ (well fuck you too, magazine) _! Well fear no more, because the professional love staff at our writing headquarters is here to help our precious, lonely omega boys and girls!_

_After weeks upon weeks of hard research and field testing,_ Kuroo raised a sardonic brow at that one, _we have discovered the perfect formula to wooing your big, strong alpha! We’ve divided it into seven easy steps and, if you follow along, you’ll be guaranteed to get your alpha to fall head first into your welcoming love! In these steps, it’s all about playing towards his or her natural alpha instincts, and we wish you the best of luck on your newly inspired journey of love!_

_As always, we love receiving everyone’s personal letters, so if you decide to kickstart your alpha-omega romance with our advice, then write us a letter about your story and we might feature it in our next volume!_

Kuroo had only read the several introductory paragraphs but he already felt like he had mentally aged several years, which was problematic because he already felt like a thirty-two year old man trapped in a nineteen year old’s body. The cutesy writing had been just as vomit-inducing as he had anticipated, and what the hell did ‘playing towards an alpha’s instincts’ mean? What exactly were they expecting these unexperienced, impressionable teenagers to get into? This wasn’t the goddamn medieval ages where alphas were seen as mindless animals driven by instincts and omegas as birthing machines.

And, god, don’t get him started on the actual steps. Kuroo briefly flicked through them, his repulsed grimace growing harsher every line he read. There were not enough words in the dictionary to properly express just how… how _tasteless_ the steps themselves were. They were cheesy, sappy, gross, cliché, and absolutely he had to show this written shit to Bokuto, the alpha would get a kick out of it--

A metaphorical lightbulb lit up in the omega’s head, and Kuroo ceased bashing the love magazine for one hot second to truly consider its merit. Alright, so what if just reading the steps made Kuroo want to cry, both out of pity and the utter hilarity of the advice? What would happen if the professional love staff’s instructions actually, god forbid, worked? How embarrassed would Bokuto be if some godawful romance advice got his typically dormant alpha instincts flaring?

Bokuto would be mortified when Kuroo extravagantly revealed that a magazine targeted towards teenaged omegas had accurately predicted the ace volleyball player’s reactions. The alpha would make the dumbest shocked face in the entire world before they both burst into loud unholy laughter that would probably be heard all the way down on the first floor of their apartment building. The pair would laugh at Bokuto for falling for it before laughing at Kuroo himself for even ironically following the magazine’s instructions in the first place.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” Kenma softly interrupted his train of thought, and Kuroo jumped in surprise as he’d forgotten that the beta had been watching him closely. “That’s your creepy scheming smile.”

Kenma’s comment only made his mouth twist into a harsher smirk, earning an apprehensive look from said setter. Senseless Kenma, he made it sound like Kuroo was entertaining bad thoughts, but he could not be further from the truth. After all, what’s a harmless prank between friends? Kuroo tutted as he idly tapped his finger against the wooden tabletop, “Hush now, Kenma, a genius needs silence to properly think.”

The beta complied easily enough, obviously deciding whatever Kuroo was conspiring was not worth the effort of figuring out, and he returned to his phone with an unconcerned shrug.

It’d be hilarious, the whole situation would become his and Bokuto’s newest inside joke. They would be out drinking and eating with some new friends from university when Bokuto, from across the table, would whisper a statement along the lines of ‘ _Yeah, Kuroo, you slurping up that broth just got my alpha instincts all fired up’_ , and then Kuroo would consequently chuckle (his old teammates at Nekoma kept informing him it was more of a breathy cackle than a laugh, but what did they know) and nearly choke to death as he inhaled soup broth. Then Bokuto would laugh his ass off at his near-death experience while their university buddies looked at them like they were the crazy idiots that they were.

It was decided then. Kuroo swiftly tore out the magazine page with a rather loud ripping noise before he realized that he could have just taken a picture of the page rather than deface the property of the coffee shop. No time for regrets now, Kuroo flipped over the torn-out page in his hands and proudly presented it to a minutely shocked Kenma. “Look,” he said lowly, at least attempting to withhold the maniac giggles that threatened to spill past his lips. “Here we were just despairing, and this little thing says it’s easy!”

He watched Kenma’s eyes move as he read the article, and Kuroo leered as he watched genuine revulsion descend upon Kenma’s facial features. The beta immediately leaned back in his chair as if he was worried being within one foot of the source material would dirty his very soul. “You’re not actually going to…” Kenma’s voice drifted off, uncertain, and the setter stared at him in disbelief.

“Yes,” Kuroo hissed fervently with passion lighting in his own dark eyes. “Can you imagine the look on his face if this works and I tell him that he got played by this garbage?” Perhaps he could even record it, and then whenever either of them needed to bust a nut laughing, they would reply the scene on their phones.

“You are doing it… to get a reaction out of him?” Kenma asked slowly.

Kuroo checked his chin and said, “Yeah, so?” He couldn’t see how Kenma didn’t automatically recognize what a brilliant idea this was. No one would be getting hurt, and harmless little pranks such as these were how Kuroo actively expressed his love in his own special way. So he teased the people he cared about, sue him.

“I mean…” Kenma drawled hesitantly, his thin eyebrows scrunching together as his fingers twisted themselves into the strings of his hoodie. “I am grateful you aren’t taking the advice seriously… but this feels like an obvious ploy to cover your true feelings.” The beta frowned, insulted, when Kuroo rolled his eyes, and he lowered his voice as he warned, “This isn’t going to end the way you think it is, Kuro.”

The omega bristled when Kenma leveled him with a sympathetic look, and, alright, maybe he could admit that a microscopic, hopeful part of him naively wished all his unrequited love troubles could be solved with the help of a teen omega magazine –but, seriously, his true intentions were just to laugh at Bokuto and be laughed at, that was all. Ignoring his friend’s pessimistic predictions, Kuroo folded up the magazine paper and roughly stuffed it into his front pockets. “I don’t want your pity,” he huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Kenma’s eyes were glued back to his phone when he flatly replied, “I have no pity for self-destructive idiots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Alright, serious time** : I just wanted to thank anyone who stumbled upon this and read through this meager chapter. I'll only say this once so you don't have to read it every chapter, but please feel free to leave kudos/comment! Even if you're reading this 50 years into the future, I always go back and reread comments. Hell, the only reason why I gathered the ~~mental strength~~ inspiration to write 'How to Woo Your Alpha in 7 Easy Steps' was because I reread the encouraging comments people left on something else I wrote three years ago! So you have those beautiful commenters to thank for this current fic lol
> 
> The next update will be **03/18/2018**. Chapters around 5-10k will be updated  every 7 days (excluding the next chapter which will be released in 3 days because I wanted to give y’all some actual coNtenT), and chapters 10k+ words will update every 14 days. In the ending chapter notes, I will always write the next update date!


	2. Step 1. Toss Those Suppressants!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi and Oikawa were accepted into the same university so fight me, scrubs

 Step 1. Toss Those Suppressants!

_“That’s right, you heard us! Toss those heat suppressants down the drain, because you’re going on to go ‘au naturel’ on this love journey of yours! Everyone knows that suppressants dull your natural omega aroma, so imagine the astonishment on your alpha’s face when you walk by and they catch your true scent! It’s certainly a fun way to catch their attention, for no single alpha can resist the sweet scent of an unmated omega. However, ditching your suppressants will lead to your body entering its next mating cycle, so do be careful of the timing of your heat!”_  
-Excerpt from ‘How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps!’ pg 38-39, _Omega Teen Magazine_

Friday’s morning sunrise was languidly making its unhurried debut across the horizon, and the sun’s gentle pale light slowly seeped into every street corner of the university town, a signal for the workers of the day to rise and a curtain call for the town’s rambunctious nightlife. In a certain apartment building, the kitchen was casted in the warm light of the morning that filtered in through the single window situated above the sink. Occasionally, the sun’s rays bounced off of floating dust particles in the air, causing them to glint, as one of the apartment’s tenants with atrocious bed hair stared blankly at the red medicine case placed on the cheap laminate countertop.

After spending the entire night tossing and turning on top of his bedsheets, his mind anxiously churning over every excruciating detail of what exactly could go horribly wrong, Kuroo could admit that perhaps he was not nearly as confident about this entire situation then he had been just over twelve hours ago. Gone were his poised smiles as he now worried his lip between his teeth, because he couldn’t help but ask himself, was this really such a good idea?

The omega reached for his pill case, only to jerk his hand back a few seconds later as if the plastic had burned his fingers. He’d been taking his suppressant medication religiously ever since his blood test’s results returned, so it felt bizarre to not automatically pop a pill before breakfast as usual. And the more he hesitated, the more nervous he became. It was one thing to say he was going to follow the crappy dating advice, but another thing entirely to actually _do_ it, who would have thought.

Perhaps with an uncalled for amount of flair, Kuroo dramatically tore his gaze from his medicine case with a breathy sigh. Well, his body needed to enter his yearly heat cycle anyways, so might as well be now. Professional secondary gender hormone researchers always recommended letting the body experience a natural heat every three cycles to keep hormones in balance and reduce the risk of suppressant complications. His last (disaster of a) heat had been a year ago when he was still a third year in high school, and now was as good as a time as ever because it was summer break. He didn’t have any outside responsibilities and he didn’t have to concern himself with school, so he could barricade himself in his room for four wretchedly uncomfortable days without worry.

Kuroo absentmindedly brushed a lock of hair that had distractingly fallen over his right eye, and he glanced towards the ceiling as if hoping to find the answers to his turmoil in the five-by-four inch soy sauce stain spread across the textured ceiling paint, courtesy of Kuroo himself. During dinner one day, he had tried showing off his newly practiced juggling abilities to Bokuto with some condiment bottles and, well, it hadn’t gone exactly as planned.

This whole ‘not taking his suppressants’ thing couldn’t end well, and Kuroo was actually afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep _himself_ in check. His currently blunted smell might strengthen, but so would his own scenting capabilities. The scents of his surroundings that were presently limited would suddenly sharpen; he’d be able to smell Bokuto seconds before the alpha entered the kitchen or smell the molding leftovers in the fridge from their apartment’s threshold or, who the hell knew, even smell the damn soy sauce stain on their ceiling.

He was worried because it was his heightened sense of smell as an omega that had caused so much grief during his previous heat. Last year, a few days before his scheduled heat was supposed to hit, he had thoughtlessly scheduled a practice match with Fukurodani --you know, like an idiot. Shit, what had he been thinking, scheduling any event that would include being surrounded by sweaty and masculine betas and alphas forty-eight hours before his heat? Apparently not that, because that’s exactly what he did.

The beginning of the practice match had actually gone pretty smoothly. Kuroo had made his awe-inspiring speech, of which fifty percent of its content was pulled directly out of his ass, and successfully empowered his entire team with the vigor of a thousand burning suns, and they had started the game. Everything went to shit, however, when ten minutes into the game Kuroo had rotated up to center line where a poised Bokuto greeted him.

Teammates had rolled their eyes as thick tension sparked between them while they both simultaneously aimed confident grins at each other from across the barrier of the net. Kuroo had already opened his mouth, ready for their traditional round of good ol’ trash talk, but only a hitched huff had escaped when Bokuto laughed haughtily. Bokuto’s fearless expression, large amber eyes aflame with passion and his teeth, sharper than a beta or omega’s, flashing in a mocking smile, had _done things_ to Kuroo, who breathed in sharply in response. Breathing had been a mistake, because then all of his senses were suddenly being invaded by Bokuto’s scent. It completely flooded his nose, and Kuroo was left blinking dumbly while he indistinctly heard Bokuto insult his lack of kneepads, that jackass.

Kuroo could barely remember the details of what happened afterwards as his body was forced into the early stages of heat. He could just only faintly recall the dizziness that had enveloped his head and the warmth blooming in his lower stomach without his permission, making it impossible to concentrate on any single thought other than the overpowering scent invading his nostrils. He remembered jumping to block one of Akaashi’s dumps, because by some miracle his body was still in volleyball mode, but when he landed his body decided ‘fuck this’, gave out, and he had collapsed to his knees.

Bokuto, in response, had instantly ducked under the net, shouting out his name, which only made his body burn all that hotter when the alpha shook his shoulders. He also, unfortunately, remembered the unholy mortification as he sat there in a crumpled heap on the cold flooring of the volleyball court with his breath coming in ragged, painful pants and stinging sweat dripping into his eyes as he weakly shoved a confused Bokuto away. His teammates had intervened then, and Kai practically dragged his limp body off the court and tossed him onto the benches.

Thankfully Lev had let him borrow his emergency supply of scent blockers before his pheromones could engulf the entire gymnasium, and if it wasn’t for the fifteen-foot-tall omega then he would have definitely been found out. Not that Kuroo had been hiding his secondary gender --no, it was required by Japanese law for male omegas to register their genders on an official governmental record due to their rarity in comparison to female omegas-- but rather he hadn’t wanted to be remembered by the first years as ‘that one omega captain that went into heat in the middle of a _goddamn practice match_ ’.

He had been trapped there in the gymnasium because the scheduled practice match hadn’t been a home game for Nekoma, so Kuroo had to spend the rest of the miserable match on the bench of shame with his head in his hands and Kenma perched at his side for moral support, Teshiro having taken the setter’s place on the court. Kenma had adamantly refused to abandon him under the heartwarming guise of friendship, but to this day Kuroo had his suspicions that the beta merely used his unexpected debilitation as an excuse to not play that day. As he had sat there, clenching his thighs tightly together and gritting his teeth at the influx of heat that rushed through his body, Kuroo had been swamped with guilt.

The alpha, who was renowned for his intense concentration, had kept glancing worriedly at his slumped over, pitiful form throughout the entirety of the match, even completely missing three spikes set up by Akaashi, much to the beta’s bubbling irritation. In the end, Nekoma had won by a narrow margin, but to Kuroo the win was a cheap disgrace. He had felt like shit.

Yeah, it certainly had been a difficult day. It also happened to be the day where Kuroo had been forced to realize that he probably liked Bokuto in an utterly not bro-friendly way, as his body had gone through the unwanted trouble of making that statement painstakingly clear. Up until that point, the omega had always happily hidden his feelings behind the delightful excuse of close friendship, but apparently his traitorous body had had enough of that bullcrap. When Kuroo realized he had been triggered into an early heat because of Bokuto’s fucking scent and _smirk_ , he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he may or may not have deeply hidden romantic intentions towards his bro.

Feeling a heated blush beginning to bloom across his chest and face, Kuroo cleared his throat and scratched lightly at the back of his neck. How embarrassing, Kuroo wished he could have discovered his true feelings in a much cooler way. If someone ever asked him how he fell in love, he wanted to respond with something hopelessly romantic like ‘I knew it was love the moment he saved me from drowning in a raging river’, but instead all he’s got was ‘my body got horny when I saw him smile’.

There was a sudden, dull thud from across the apartment, accompanied by a loud curse, and Kuroo twitched when his thoughts were interrupted. Speak of the devil, that was probably Bokuto falling out of bed. Kuroo twisted around and snatched his bottle of suppressants that sat next to his pill case as he idly listened to the alpha thump around, sounding more like a warzone then a bumbling, sleepy alpha probably trying to find a clean shirt.

The omega turned the bottle, the pills inside rattling, over in his hands and re-read the companies daily dose recommendations. These suppressants were likely the only reason why he still had his sanity about him. It was already hard enough not to mindlessly blurt out his disgustingly romantic feelings when, during movie nights, he never failed to notice how the ace always waited until Kuroo had gotten enough popcorn before digging in himself, so it’d be physically impossible if, on top of that, his senses were being constantly teased by the rich earthy tones of an alpha’s scent. God, he was going to be in so much trouble.

Exhaling slowly, Kuroo had to remind himself why he was doing this in the first place. This, the suppressants, all of it, was for a kickass joke, he made that clear yesterday. What on earth was he thinking, who cared about how great Bokuto smelled? That didn’t matter, and his main mission wasn’t actually to get Bokuto to fall head over heels in love with him, it was for the new inside jokes this whole situation was going to create. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this so seriously, he was doing this on a careless whim, remember? He had long ago accepted that his crush would remain unrequited, and he was perfectly fine with that.

Now all Kuroo had to do was squash that little nugget of hope sprouting inside his heart, and he’d be golden.

Just then, Bokuto, the alpha of the hour, walked into the kitchen with a yawn stretching his jaw and a nearly intelligible greeting while Kuroo stared pointedly at his stupid ‘The Wisdom of the Ace: Firstly, the figure of the ace is one that inspires his allies. Secondly, he should shatter any wall. Thirdly, he should hit any ball to his utmost ability’ shirt and wondered, _why must it be Bokuto?_. Bokuto either didn’t notice Kuroo’s judgmental gaze or didn’t… no, he probably didn’t notice, for if he had then the alpha would have stopped and spent the next five minutes explaining why the shirt was so cool.

“Morning,” the ace sleepily tried again as he stumbled over to Kuroo, briefly pausing to pat him solidly on the shoulder before loping his way over towards the fridge. He tugged open the refrigerator’s doors and scanned its contents with a contemplative look as Kuroo desperately tried not to either stare at the alpha’s bare forearms or notice how low his grey boxers were riding on his hips. According to the kitchen’s clock, Bokuto had only been awake for a mere three minutes and was still dressed in his pajamas, but he sure as hell found time to gel up his hair, what a complete idiot.

 _Fuck_ , Kuroo adored him. “Good morning, Bo,” the omega greeted in return as the alpha’s top half disappeared into the depths of their fridge, and it was horrendously disgusting, how low and sappy his voice got. God, this needed to stop and he needed to reevaluate his life, because he’d just finished reminding himself that he was happy with how things were, and now here he was getting all sentimental.

Bokuto returned from the void of the refrigerator with last night’s leftovers in his hands and a sheepish smile as he apologized, “Dude, I’m sorry I missed Kenma yesterday.” The alpha popped open the Tupperware container and closed the fridge’s door with a well-aimed kick of his feet as he tutted with disappointment, “And I can’t believe you said he didn’t want to spend the night with us! The three of us could have watched new movie trailers or you and I could have gotten our asses kicked in some MMO by Kenma, it would have been great!”

In a magnificent show of restraint, Kuroo pressed his twitching lips together as he suddenly found the tiled flooring of their kitchen absolutely captivating. His eyes bore into the grout between each tile (shit, and they were filthy, when was the last time someone scrubbed them --was that squashed, mummified pork?) as he recalled his little scouting mission yesterday where he and Kenma were literally thirty feet away from Bokuto. Unfortunately, soon after their discussion about his masterful plan, Kenma’s face started to become increasingly bitchy, so Kuroo was forced to cut the excursion short and sneakily escape the coffee shop to drag Kenma to the local video game shops as per his original promise.

Lightly coughing to clear his throat, Kuroo reasoned with a practiced, breezy tone, “Oh, well, I mean he is here to visit relatives.” Yes, that was good, his tone only wobbled a fraction, nothing too suspicious. Kuroo risked a glance at Bokuto as he reassured, “So while he’s spending all day today and tomorrow with his family, he will definitely be here for Sunday. You will see him then.”

“Awesome,” Bokuto replied with a satisfied grin, none the wiser as per Kuroo’s A-list acting skills. The alpha popped the leftovers into the microwave as he asked, “Are Oikawa and Iwaizumi still coming on Sunday, too?”

“Eh, as far as I know,” Kuroo said in reply. The alpha-omega pair had both gone and managed to hook volleyball scholarships like Bokuto --scholarships that they both undeniably deserved even though Iwaizumi swore he was only accepted because Oikawa must have threatened the financial aid staff with not accepting their offer-- and were undergoing some intense volleyball summer training camp where they traveled to different gyms to practice against other teams; and their latest gym just so happened to be only thirty-five miles away from the apartment.

Through the power of everlasting friendship nurtured through high school (read: Oikawa either wanted to test his newfound volleyball skills on fellow university-level Bokuto or show off Iwaizumi, though there was also a chance that the answer was both), the pair had decided to spend their weekend off with him, Bokuto, and Kenma to just have a fun day in general reliving their glory days. He and Bokuto also almost managed to convince Karasuno’s ex-captain Daichi to join them so it’d be like a mini captain’s reunion plus Kenma and Iwaizumi, but apparently at the last minute he was offered a summer job he couldn’t refuse like some sort of respectable young adult.

Kuroo lightly threw his pill bottle and caught it while Bokuto yawned for the second time that morning as he patiently waited for his food to heat up. Speaking of friends… “Oh, hey,” the omega suddenly said, earning him a curious head tilt from Bokuto. “Still no plans on with Akaashi?”

Akaashi was a third year now and the captain of the Fukurodani volleyball team, and Kuroo knew that Bokuto had been hoping to catch up over the summer as the two had only texted and spoke through phone calls during the last few months of university. Kuroo actually felt somewhat sympathetic because here he was merrily hanging out with his own friend while Bokuto still hadn’t been able to catch up with his. Well he was sympathetic, but not _too_ sympathetic, after all this was Akaashi they were talking about. Kuroo still had some strong words to say to the dude after he figured out that the beta had been calling him a pain in the ass behind his back.

“No,” Bokuto mumbled, his shoulders sloping dejectedly. With a forlorn sigh, the alpha pressed his forehead against the microwave’s screen as he continued to complain to the rotating plate of food, “He says he’s too busy, what an ass. How could he be too busy for me, his best friend!” Bokuto shifted his head so his left eye could meet with Kuroo’s, expectantly.

Kuroo nodded solemnly and agreed, “I can’t believe he won’t drop every single responsibility of his to come see you.” How despicable of him, that pretty-faced scoundrel. Desperately fighting back a wry grin, Kuroo placed his free hand against his sternum, fingers splayed, as he said reverently, “Bro, _I_ would drop everything for you, just say the word and I’m there. Like Hachiko.”

“ _Bro_ ,” Bokuto whispered with such heartfelt emotion that it shattered Kuroo’s restraint and he was forced to smother his grin behind his hand. The microwave dinged, and Bokuto chuckled as he popped open the door and retrieved his breakfast. “I know right? I’ll get him though, he can’t hide from me forever, I’ve already got a plan in the works.”

After taking a moment to compose himself and dropping his hand, the omega asked, his tone suddenly sly, “Oh, I’m glad you brought up plans, are we still on for tonight?”

Bokuto immediately responded with an overzealous, “Hell yeah! I’m going to decimate your ass in Mario Kart!” Friday nights were game night, as per the Bokuto and Kuroo Household tradition ever since they moved in together, where they ate pre-packed meals from the convenience store and played until they collapsed dead on their feet.

Sometimes, however, game night would get pretty heated and the insults they threw around could become a both a little creative and vocal, and their night would consequently get cut short when an irked neighbor pounded on their apartment door and kindly told them to shut the fuck up. Those nights were some of Kuroo’s favorites because he and Bokuto would startle and stare at each other with wide eyes, knowing they had just landed themselves another strike with the landlord, before dissolving into laughter (or ‘breathy cackles’, apparently, in Kuroo’s case, whatever the hell that entailed).

Snorting, Kuroo placed the bottle of suppressants back down on the counter, his stupid worries momentarily forgotten as he nailed Bokuto with a harsh leer. “Heh, you talk big, but you can never finish a Rainbow Road race,” he taunted, his blood singing when Bokuto gaped at him and told him that those were fighting words.

Hey, maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright.   

[][][]

It was around seven o’clock in the evening, and a peaceful atmosphere had fallen down upon the apartment building as the tenants finished their dinners and began settling in for the night, which the exception of two tenants in 103 who were drunkenly crying their hearts out over a popular song. Kuroo could faintly hear the female beta’s wailing, a tradition of theirs when one of them had just gone through a nasty break up, from his and Bokuto’s apartment on the second floor.

Kuroo spared them a fleeting thought of pity as he sat on the living room’s couch and desperately attempted to sync the Wii remotes to the main system. The tv was turned on, and Kuroo was furiously pressing the controllers’ buttons as the syncing screen replayed its jingling music that had transformed from ‘cheerfully upbeat’ to ‘annoyingly grating’ within the last five minutes of being forced to listen to it on loop. Each note further frayed his sanity as he picked up the wheel Wii remote from his lap and enthusiastically smashed buttons.

They only had one wheel because it had come with the game, so that meant one of them was going to just hold the bare Wii remote horizontally and use their damn imagination because they were both cheap college students who didn’t want to spend their money on another one. The fifteen hundred yen that would be needed to purchase another wheel could be used for more important things like two days’ worth of precious food or perhaps even a new emergency volleyball pump. They already had seven scattered throughout their apartment, but they never knew when they might need an eighth.

The tv dinged as a message apologizing about not being able to sync the devices popped up on the screen, and Kuroo eyed it suspiciously as he leaned backwards, wondering if the electronic was asking for a fight. Syncing the remotes shouldn’t be this complicated, there had to be another explanation other than the possibility of his ineptitude. His tension-filled staring battle with their television was brought to a halt, however, when he heard the front door opening and Bokuto shouting his merry return from the convenience store.

“Welcome home!” Kuroo instinctually shouted back as the door closed with a slam and he heard the alpha shuffle off his shoes and plastic bags crinkling loudly in his hands. It had taken a couple months, but those two words were finally beginning to feel a little less alien on his tongue, and he tried to imagine how his past self would react if he told the looser that in a few years’ time, he’d be living together with his big, fat crush. Past him would probably deck him right in the stomach out of pure jealously and then they’d both slump over in pain because, hello, they were the same person, _idiot_.

As Kuroo fumbled with the Wii controllers on the couch, cusses flowing from his mouth as he told the remotes exactly what he thought about them, he faintly heard Bokuto approach behind him and dump the plastic bags onto the couch cushion. Kuroo’s gaze was drawn to the precious goods spilling temptingly from the bag, and he opened his mouth to ask if Bokuto remembered to buy the grilled salted mackerel pike —this was very important to Kuroo the ace’s answer could very well determine the improvement or termination of their friendship— but Bokuto beat him to it when he abruptly said, “Hey, Kuroo?”

The omega tilted his head backwards, the back of his neck resting against the cushions of the couch, and hummed in reply at the now upside-down alpha. Bokuto’s large yellow eyes stared down at him, unblinkingly, for a tense second before he scrunched his nose. “Dude, I’m like pretty sure that you smell different,” he uncertainly pointed out, hesitation clear in his tone of voice. “Tell me I’m not going crazy.”

The corner of his lip twitching upwards, Kuroo pretended not too look too pleased with himself as he breezed lightly, “Is that so?” In reality, he’d been desperately waiting for that fateful comment all day. Throughout the entirety of the afternoon he had been casually following Bokuto around the apartment with the excuse of just wanting to hang out with his bro, as he had no sense of shame.

When Bokuto went into the kitchen for midday snacks, Kuroo would follow with the excuse of feeling a little peckish himself. When Bokuto left the apartment for his daily jog, Kuroo rode his bike and pedaled alongside, yelling out a mixture of encouragements and insults whenever he started slowing down. When Bokuto decided to relax into his own bedroom, Kuroo was on his heels claiming he’d left his phone charger plugged into one of Bokuto’s wall sockets. When Bokuto went into bathroom to take a piss --alright Kuroo didn’t follow him in then, but he did almost wait faithfully outside the bathroom door before he realized how creepy that actually was.

He figured that it’d take some time for his body to flush yesterday’s suppressant pill out of his system, and it seems like his patience has finally paid off. Well, perhaps he wasn’t exactly the finest example of patience, as whenever Bokuto wasn’t looking, the omega would stare expectantly at the back of his stupidly gelled hair, but Kuroo had at least earned himself a passing grade, hadn’t he?

“Oho ho ho, of course, I stopped taking my suppressants,” Kuroo revealed with, what he thought was, a flirty eyebrow wag. He didn’t see the harm in telling the guy as long as he didn’t mention the ‘why’.

Surprise at his blunt confession caused Bokuto’s thicker brows to climb up his forehead (or ‘down’ as per Kuroo’s current point of view). The surprise was soon replaced with an indescribable look, and Kuroo became the audience to the emotional rollercoaster that was known as Bokuto’s eyebrows when he scrunched them together and clarified, “Bro, you’re going into heat soon.” It was very much a statement instead of a question.

At that, his cynical grin nearly slid off his face, but he caught it just in time. Shit, yeah, he kept forgetting that little detail himself, which was funny because he had just spent his morning angsting heavily over this very problem. Throughout the day he had been so focused on pulling this whole wooing prank off and waiting for his natural scent to return that he kept undermining the importance of his upcoming heat.

Thankfully his teammates always called him the Intellectually Swift Captain for a reason (no they didn’t, no matter how often Kuroo bribed them with food and rest days). “Yeah,” he responded quite intelligently. Nice start. “It’s time for my yearly heat, so I stopped taking them. You know, gotta keep that hormone balance and stuff.” And not for _any other reason_. Especially any reason that involved the ripped-out magazine page that he had quickly stuffed underneath his mattress as if he was shamefully hiding porn mags from his disappointed parents.

Bokuto frowned thoughtfully for a moment before he braced his hand on the back of the couch and hopped over the furniture, landing hard on the cushions with enough momentum that caused Kuroo to bounce a decent height. “Are you going to spend it with anyone?” the alpha asked, still frowning, as he twisted his torso to face Kuroo, folding one leg on the cushion and leaving the other hanging off the couch.

Automatically, Kuroo wanted to ask something of the lines of ‘what would you do if I said yes?’ or even a cheeky ‘you offering?’, but he immediately stamped down those thoughts, partly because he was afraid of hearing the answer and partly because that was too cruel; he wasn’t going to play with Bokuto’s emotions and reactions like an asshole.

Instead, Kuroo deadpanned with a straight face, “Yes.” Only when Bokuto gaped unattractively at his blunt admission, did Kuroo then follow it up with a, “I’m spending it with my trusty, ever faithful right hand.” He had said he wasn’t a cruel asshole, but he had never said anything about being a merciful saint either.

And he really was going to be spending his heat alone with his right hand, wasn’t he? Hell would freeze over or, better yet, Yaku would properly confront his severe height complex before Bokuto would ever offer to assist him in his demanding heat. Which was really unfortunate because Kuroo’s omega body seemed to be really dead set on Bokuto; ‘Bokuto or Bust’ as the saying goes. And, sure, he and Bokuto had tested the strict lines of friendship before --had shared toothbrushes and slept together on the same futon during emergency situations-- but there was just something about fucking your omega bro while he pathetically begged for your knot that really seemed to cross the ‘bro line’.

Shit, this whole new inside joke thing better work out because Kuroo was not looking forward to spending another heat alone. His last heat, after safely returning home and locking himself in his room, had been hell on earth, where his entire being was enveloped in the feeling of _emptiness_ , where he knew who he wanted but, frustratingly enough, couldn’t reach him no matter how loudly he called out his name.

No, he definitely didn’t want to relive that.

Bokuto snickered as he leaned his side into the couch’s back pillows. “You scared me there,” he admitted as dropped his broad shoulders, and Kuroo was about to ask how the hell it scared him when he was steamrolled over, “I’m assuming you’ll be taking the apartment? You’ll feel safer surrounded by all your own stuff, right?”

Kuroo squinted his eyes as he slowly dropped the Wii remotes in his lap, not willing to let that first comment just fly on by, but Bokuto only stared back with an innocent expression. Fine, he’ll let it go, for now, but only because Kuroo couldn’t think of a way to smoothly bring it back up. Sighing, Kuroo relented, “Only if you’re alright with me taking the apartment.” This was Bokuto’s home too, and he didn’t want to just brusquely throw him out. Where would the dude even stay? It wasn’t like they had developed close friends at university just yet… wait.

“Dude, you can stay with Akaashi!” Kuroo suddenly blurted. Shit, man, this was why his ungrateful teammates should have addressed him as the Intellectually Swift Captain, he was a goddamn prodigy. “Take a four-day trip back home in the Kanto region, there’s no way he’d turn you down.”

As soon as Bokuto mentioned that Kuroo was in heat, the beta would agree to housing the poor alpha simply because he wouldn’t want to hear any more details. It pleased Kuroo immensely, knowing that the Fukurodani setter was uncomfortable with the very mention of his own biological needs as an omega, and it was a weakness that Kuroo wanted to exploit further; to see what else Akaashi would do if Kuroo simply prefaced something with ‘you know my heat is coming up and all…’.

“Oh! I didn’t think about that! You’re a genius!” Bokuto gushed, and Kuroo couldn’t fault him as he was impressed with himself. As Kuroo snickered haughtily under the alpha’s reasonable praise, the ace continued fervently, “I bow down to your intelligence, dude, that’s a hell of a lot better than my original plan to beg on my knees.”

Begging on his knees, that had been his plan he mentioned earlier in the kitchen? Kuroo snorted at the admission, wondering if Bokuto was aware that alphas typically weren’t supposed to prostrate themselves before someone and plead, in fact alphas tended to avoid that sort of undesirable situation. Bokuto had absolutely no awareness of his alpha instincts, did he? Perhaps that was why Bokuto hadn’t viewed him as a potential romantic partner yet, and Kuroo was damned to carry this unrequited crush for all of eternity.

Okay, well, that’s not necessarily true, Bokuto was plenty alpha enough. The dude was impressively loud, confident in his own actions, immensely prideful, seemed to flourish when he figured out the answer to his problem by himself, was vicious when it came to competition, and he was always happy to lend advice to those not yet standing at his level… What had he been thinking, Bokuto was definitely an alpha, so why the hell was the guy utterly oblivious to Kuroo’s own second gender? Where was his excuse?

Ah, never mind that, there were more important matters at hand. “Oh, bro,” Kuroo added, “this talk about you staying with Akaashi, this doesn’t mean I don’t trust you or think you’re going to do anything, you know that right?” He trusted Bokuto with his damn life, and it was important to him for his friend to know that. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

If Kuroo looked of the definition of ‘high-maintenance’, he’d find the omega symbol proudly stamped all over the fucking dictionary page. Omegas in heat were such a handful, Kuroo nearly felt pity for the alphas having to deal with them. During his four days of horny torture, he would probably stink up the entire apartment with his pheromones, and before his heat hit he’d probably clean the entire house (Kuroo has had his eyes on that mummified pork piece sandwiched in the grout since this morning) and raid the pantry. And, oh god, the _sounds_ , if Bokuto ever heard him in his throes of heat then he’d either never be able to look the dude in the eyes ever again or he’d go drown himself in the nearest waterway, it would depend on his mood at the time.

Bokuto reached across the couch and plucked one of the Wii remotes from Kuroo’s lap as he shook his head, his stiff hair not even moving in inch, that’s how much gel he used. “No offense taken,” Bokuto reassured earnestly, and Kuroo sighed in relief. “And there’s no way you’d could ever bother me, especially with something I know you can’t control.”

While the alpha fiddled with the controller in an effort to help sync it, Kuroo wondered how such a wonderful and kind person such as Bokuto could exist, for he was simply too good for this despicable, dirtied world and humanity did not deserve him. Bokuto aimed a smirk his way, “But I’m glad you told me so I could make plans. You might trust me but I sure as hell don’t trust myself around in-heat Kuroo, you already smell great.”

Kuroo smiled kindly. _What the actual flying fuck does that mean?_ , he internally screamed. What the fuck? No, seriously, what the hell did that _mean_? Was Bokuto trying to imply that he’d jump him? Come on, man, he had just spent the past minute pouring his trust and hard-earned admiration into the ace, and now he goes and says something like this?

God, Kuroo didn’t even know how to tackle that one without getting his hopes up, so he just ignored it. Bokuto probably was just saying that to… no, see, Kuroo couldn’t even make sense of the bullshit Bokuto was sprouting, which was pretty impressive considering Kuroo had spent the past years making platonic excuses for everything that Bokuto did. He was a certified professional in his craft, but now he was stumped.

However, something Bokuto said had stuck out, and his curiosity got the best of him when he asked, “What do I smell like?” Kuroo knew his scent was growing more potent without the suppressants, but he couldn’t exactly smell himself, so he was interested in knowing what the alpha thought.

As it was required by law, he had been on medication ever since his secondary gender blood test in middle school had returned with an omega sign, so his scent was always blunted before it could even develop during his second puberty at sixteen. This meant not even strangers could tell him what he smelled like, and now that Kuroo was thinking about it, Bokuto might be the first person to inhale his true, unhindered scent for the first time in a year, since his last heat. Kuroo couldn’t decide whether he found that hot or sad.

In response to his innocent question, Bokuto tilted his upper torso forward, abandoning his ploy to sync the Wii remote, and raised his hand. Without warning, the palm of the alpha’s hand cupped the side of his neck before gently pulling him forwards as the ace bent his head over Kuroo’s collarbone. Kuroo immediately stiffened, a low sound of confusion leaving his lips, as he watched Bokuto’s eyelids flicker close and his nostrils flare. Even though he had no idea what was transpiring, Kuroo felt his pulse quicken as he speechlessly watched Bokuto’s brows furrow in concentration.

Heart beginning to pound and something warm starting to spread in his stomach, Kuroo could only observe as Bokuto’s eyes open to meet his as he leaned back. He felt Bokuto’s callused hand roughly slide down over the column of his throat before he pulled back, and Kuroo couldn’t stop the minute shiver that raced down his spine even if he tried. His neck burned where Bokuto’s hand had passed over, and Kuroo prayed a blush wasn’t blooming across his neck.

Bokuto glanced away briefly, nodding to himself, before he announced confidently with no room for debate, “You smell like citrus, an orangey citrus.”

Those unexpected words snapped Kuroo out of whatever trance he had momentarily been trapped in. Citrus? Screw that. Kuroo harshly crinkled his nose and irately spat, “ _Citrus?_ Come on, dude, the hell I don’t smell like citrus.” Bokuto tried correcting him that it was ‘actually a more orangey citrus’ but an irritated glare made the alpha close his mouth with an audible click.

There must be something off with Bokuto’s nose, because there was no chance in hell that he, Kuroo Tetsurou, smelled like citrus. Citrus was a delicate scent reserved for delicate omegas, of which Kuroo definitely wasn’t. Show him another omega who smelled like citrus and could also pop a volleyball between their thighs and then they could redo this talk, but right now citrus always belonged to feeble male and female omegas that were scared of leaves and confrontation.

“Impossible,” Kuroo huffed as he rolled his dark eyes. Bokuto should really schedule a doctor’s appointment and get his scenting capabilities tested, because obviously they weren’t functioning properly. “Your nose must be broken because I smell badass.” Like gunmetal or rust chipping off a metal fence or the heavy ozone in the air right before lightning hit, just anything but _citrus_.

Bokuto only smirked knowingly and remained quiet for once in his damn life. The alpha’s silence spoke volumes.

Staring in disbelief at the _audacity_ of his friend, Kuroo gaped for a second before he could gather his cunning wits about him, all the while Bokuto’s peaceful grin pushing him further in his irritation. Tilting his chin in defiance, the seething omega bit out, “Asshole, let’s see what you smell like then.” He hoped the guy smelled like fucking garbage.

And with that, he shoved the remaining Wii controller off his lap and onto the floor before shooting out his hand and fisting a handful of Bokuto’s shirt. Yanking him forward --Bokuto practically squawked-- Kuroo unceremoniously shoved his face into the crook of Bokuto’s neck, close enough for his breath to fan hotly against the ace’s skin, before breathing in. In hindsight, this was a terrible idea.

At first, the alpha’s scent was faint (probably because he hadn’t been off his suppressants long enough), barely a hint of an earthy tone, but then on his second breath Kuroo felt like some random jackass had just punched him in the gut when his body _remembered_. A tantalizingly rich, deep aroma fogged up his head, and his mind was instantly shot back to his last heat. It was the same smell that had invaded every sense of his after Bokuto had shot him that cocky smile with half-lidded eyes, and that familiarity of it touched Kuroo --it nearly felt as if he had returned home after a long time away. Curiously, Kuroo leaned in further but, unfortunately, his discovery time was rudely interrupted by merry laughter.

“Hey… hey, now!” Bokuto suddenly said as he tried, and failed, to stop the bubbling laughter that hitched his breath. With warm hands, he grabbed the omega’s shoulders and lightly pushed him, Kuroo so shocked by the sudden outburst that his body didn’t resist. “Bro, Kuroo, my man, back up, your hair is freaking itchy, it’s tickling my face.”

Expression blank, Kuroo blinked dumbly as his torso rocked backwards and a few locks of hair from his fringe fell in front of his right eye. He watched Bokuto, wholly oblivious, draw back his hands and scratch at his cheek as he tried to find words. Kuroo couldn’t believe it. Here he was, attempting to drown himself in his friend’s scent and nearly pressing his purring body against him, and the only thing running through Bokuto head was how ticklish his damn hair was? Goddammit, why couldn’t Kuroo just be sexy for one goddamn minute?

Unable to resist his eyes from rolling, Kuroo sighed heavily before his lips crimped downwards in a sharp pout. That’s also when he noticed that his line of sight was significantly more covered than normal, and it took every ounce of restraint in his body to stop another eye roll. He blew out another sharp breath to blow the hair out of his eyes, but, because it seemed nothing wanted to go his way today, he could only watch helplessly as the locks fluttered back into his field of view.

Bokuto sniggered at his effort. “Here, I’ll help,” he insisted good-naturedly, and Kuroo had but seconds to prepare his heart (it hadn’t been enough time) before Bokuto reached forwards and gently brushed his black hair out of his eyes --or well, until Kuroo’s field of visibility rose from fifty percent to his usual seventy-five percent. “Oho ho, there we go,” the alpha proudly proclaimed as if he had just placed the final touch on a painting.

To put it simply, Kuroo was _affronted_ , and he eyed his friend with disbelief. Was he seeing this correctly? What the hell was up with this random sex appeal? This was just wrong, in this friendship Kuroo was the one with the sex appeal. He was the one who had the ‘I’ll ride you into oblivion’ smirk and the muscular but lean bod and the thighs of a champion, while Bokuto was the one with who laughed a little too loudly and cried over wholesome movie endings with snot dribbling down his nose like a weepy toddler.

When the guy was finally able to smother his smiles, Bokuto braced his hands on top of his thighs and asked with perhaps a little too much excitement, “So, what did I smell like?”

“Easy, you smell like…” his voice drifted off, uncertain, as Bokuto nailed him with wide, eager eyes. Why had he hesitated, of course Bokuto smelled like… Kuroo scrunched his nose as he realized that he hadn’t actually scented anything specific the first round, too focused on the nostalgia. “Hur, give me another go.”

Kuroo leaned in, this time stopping at a distance that respected important personal boundaries because apparently _someone_ was ticklish, and ducked his head so his nose was raised above Bokuto’s clothed chest. The world darkening as his eyes fluttering closed, Kuroo inhaled deeply as the alpha’s scent pleasantly washed over his senses again. Instantly the rich scent threatened to snap his focus, but he didn’t allow the feeling to overwhelm him again as his eyebrows dragged closer together in concentration.

Kuroo hummed lightly in delight when, after a few more seconds of mentally categorizing the concoction of scents that completed Bokuto, he was finally able to sort out a few temptingly rich smells. The earthy tone was more prominent than he had originally scented with a heavy undertone of the woody trees swirling, and he could smell the clogging musk of dew on a dirt path. It reminded him of the treks the volleyball team would take in the woods at the training camps, and the longer he concentrated, the more powerful the scent became.

His head remaining bent over a curious Bokuto’s chest, Kuroo opened his eyes to glance up at a Bokuto though his eyelashes as he replied in a bland tone of voice, “Like meat rotting out in the hot sun for six hours.” The omega’s expression remained impassive as he unfeelingly watched Bokuto’s jaw go slack. Typically, he would have slyly smirked, but he was still sulking over the whole sex appeal situation.

“What?! No, it can’t be!” Bokuto immediately denied with slight nervousness, the alpha’s body shooting straight up like he’d been electrocuted. He seemed a hair’s breath away from shaking Kuroo when he continued desperately, “Come on, bro, _Tetsurou_ , tell me it’s not true. Shit, if I do, _fuck_ , how will I ever be able to live or face anyone ever again knowing I smell like rotten meat--”

Revenge tasting sweet on his tongue (and his heart missing a beat at the sound of his name spoken in Bokuto’s voice), Kuroo bathed in Bokuto’s panic for a few more satisfying seconds before he relented. He shifted back into a normal sitting position as he admitted, interrupting the alpha’s unnecessarily dramatic spiel, “You smell like an undisturbed forest of oak, like dirt on a familiar, well-trodden path in the wilderness with the spiking scent of adventure waiting around the corner.” Kuroo was proud of himself, he managed all of that with only a smidgen of jealousy.

The alpha appeared stunned at his admission, before bobbing his head, contemplating Kuroo’s words, in a fashion that reminded him of those owl videos on YouTube. “That sounds awesome,” Bokuto decided on before he paused and took notice of the slight downturn of the omega’s lips. A little, knowing ‘heh’ noise left Bokuto’s mouth before he thumped Kuroo on the shoulder and heartily reassured, “I know you hate it, but, dude, I told you that you do smell really good.”

Kuroo, not buying the assurances for a second, glanced away to pout at the tv screen, the syncing error message still proudly displayed across the monitor as if further mocking him. He refused to make eye contact, and his lips distastefully mouthed the word ‘citrus’, the word silent yet still somehow dripping with distaste. He wanted to smell like gunmetal, even though he had no fucking clue what gunmetal even smelled like. Sounded cool as hell, though.

“Aw, come on,” Bokuto continued softly, his voice dropping an octave, as he twisted and leaned his body in front of Kuroo’s gaze, but Kuroo, in response, rebelliously turned his eyes to the ceiling. “The orangey citrus cent is so fucking crisp, but there’s also this very faint undertone of bitterness in your scent like I ate the rind or something. It feels like I’m out reliving my childhood with some orange juice and the fresh scent of spring.”

At that description, Kuroo finally lowered his gaze and made eye contact with the ace, who was looking at him hopefully with a kind smile that melted Kuroo’s heart. Well, when he put it like that he _guessed_ he could forgive him as his vivid account did perhaps make the ‘citrus’ title a little more bearable than it had been a minute ago. It wasn’t gunmetal, but it was about as good as he was going to get.

Mildly pleased, Kuroo relaxed back into the cushions of the couch as he tried to hide his contentment behind a façade of disinterest and leisure, but the cheerful flash in Bokuto’s eyes told him that the alpha had seen right through the act. Damn, recently all his Cool Guy points were just being ripped right out of his hands. He’d have to do something this week to replenish them, like do a wheelie on his bike or go outside in a sweatshirt and pretend he wasn’t sweating to death.

But in all honesty, Kuroo was probably more delighted over the fact that Bokuto himself appeared to like his scent than he was pleased that his scent wasn’t as lame as he had originally believed. Compatible people were supposed to smell good to one another after all, and that was why a pair’s combined scent always mashed beautifully (not that the two of them would ever become a pair, he was _just saying_ this on account).

However, now that he thought about it… he had always wanted to know… No, he shouldn’t ask this, it would cross the line. He really shouldn’t, but… In desperate need for some goddamn self-control, Kuroo gulped and said slowly, “Hey, Bo.” When the ace made a questioning noise he persevered, “Dude, what would our collective scents smell like?”

Kuroo told himself that his intentions were pure, that he was merely curious. They had been bros for years now, and there were always scientific studies floating around that claimed friends tended to have compatible scents in a similar way that mates did. It was some academic theory that Kuroo hadn’t given a shit about until now, and damn did he really wish he’d read the articles written about it. Something about science and being attracted romantically and platonically drawn to others who shared pleasing scents, who knew.

Curiosity, yeah, Kuroo was just curious, no matter what his pounding heart implied otherwise. Logically, Kuroo knew that he and Bokuto would have well-matched scents, his body wouldn’t have singled Bokuto out as his potential mate and gone into damn heat if their combined scents smelled like vinegar poured on top of a cake, but he wanted to know for himself while he was off his suppressants.

Frowning in thought, Bokuto raised a hand and dragged it through his raised hair while Kuroo wondered if his calluses preventing him from giving himself papercuts with the stiffened locks. “Oh, now that’s an idea, I want to know too,” Bokuto said, and Kuroo released a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was a brief moment of silence where neither of them knew what to do next, but then the alpha broke it when he nodded to himself once, then twice, then a third time before he asked, “Alright. Okay, but how do we do that?”

Fuck, he hadn’t thought that far, he could only shell out so many ingenious ideas in one day, okay? Kuroo opened his mouth only to close it when the words of enlightenment he so dearly wished for did not deliver. Thinking about their predicament seriously for a second, Kuroo huffed as his gaze wandered, as if hoping to land on something and be struck with divine inspiration. How would they do this in the least lewdest manner possible?

Holding back an unpleasant grimace, Kuroo had a few random ideas, but none of them were exactly top shelf quality. Kuroo had already blown their minds with several fantastic ideas today, it was time for Bokuto to pull his own weight, dammit. “I mean, maybe…” he started and reached out a hand but hesitated so he was left with a hand awkwardly raised between them. Kuroo himself didn’t even know what he was trying to accomplish. Eventually he dropped his outstretched hand and relinquished, “I have absolutely no clue, help me out here, man.”

Bokuto gnawed on his lip in thought, before, without any warning, sprung off the couch as Kuroo twitched in alarm. A certain gleam shining in his eyes, the ace rushed excitedly, “What if we swap clothes? Aha, wait, hold on, I’ll go grab a dirtier shirt--” Bokuto paused to wag his brows “—a riper one, if you know what I mean.”

Kuroo couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or turned on by the idea, they were two very conflicting emotions to say the least. He hadn’t been able to piece together a reply, however, as Bokuto loudly declared he’d be right back before turning tail and jogging out of the room, leaving Kuroo alone on the couch in the suddenly unnervingly quiet room.

Swapping shirts, huh? That was actually a pretty solid idea, and Kuroo dragged himself off the couch with a small groan when his knees popped. He strategically ignored his thumping heart as he languidly stretched his arms high above his head and he waited. Annoyingly enough, he couldn’t crush the contented warmth blooming inside his chest at the prospect of wearing the alpha’s clothes because he was weak. It’d be weird for him to enjoy this, right?

Yeah, it’d definitely be weird to enjoy this, especially when Bokuto was only interested in discovering what their combined scents would smell like – _which was totally okay_ , Kuroo had to remind himself, because it had almost sounded as if he was growing bitter about the alpha not feeling what he felt. Feeling bitter was stupid, he was stupid. Kuroo squeezed his eyes closed and smacked his face twice, and then another three more times for good measure. _Focus._

He had a few more moments before Bokuto returned (thankfully after Kuroo had finished smacking some sense into his brain), barreling into the living room with a bundle of fabric clenched in his hands and a proud expression. He practically screeched to a halt in front of him, his feet nearly tripping over the Wii remote Kuroo had pushed to the ground, whoops, as his hands fumbled with the wrinkled shirt until it unfolded. “What do you think?” He asked and smugly held out the shirt as if he was presenting Kuroo with a grand trophy or some shit.

It was his volleyball team’s practice uniform, a soft looking shirt made from dark grey cotton ( _gunmetal_ , Kuroo’s eyes widened) with both the university and the team’s name screen-printed onto the front in a dark blue font along with Bokuto’s new number. It was high-end quality stuff –amazing what an actual university could afford—and Kuroo knew that if he flipped the shirt around, he’d find Bokuto’s full name and, once again, his number printed on the back.

Kuroo nodded in approval, much to the other’s mounting smugness, and stripped off his own shirt while Bokuto followed suit. He felt the prickling sensation of goosebumps rising across his arms and shoulders at the keen sense of embarrassment that enveloped him, but personally Kuroo liked to blame it on his skin being chilled by the air-conditioning. Him, embarrassed? Impossible. That’d be ridiculous because he’s stripped in locker rooms with Bokuto, and plenty of other watchful eyes, more times than he’d like to count, this was nothing new. Bros stripped in front of bros, what else was new?

The omega, channeling innocence and tranquility and chastity in his mind, made it a point not let his gaze linger on Bokuto’s bare chest as they chucked their shirts at one other, Bokuto tossing the shirt he had been just wearing on the couch. Kuroo stamped down a contented sigh when he dragged the uniform over his head and popped his arms through the arm holes, because, again, that’d be weird.

And my, my, my, did he look good in gunmetal gray, might he add. He idly plucked at the bottom hem of the shirt as he was enveloped in scent he’d just been salivating over a little while ago, noting how it was it was a tad too short than he would have preferred but baggier around the shoulders. Kuroo lightly inhaled, at first trying to be stealthy about it, but then he promptly decided ‘fuck it’ and grabbed the collar of the shirt and dragged it up to his nose.

And _holy shit_. Kuroo suddenly concluded that the _Omega Teen Magazine_ was worth its weight in gold because Kuroo had never smelled anything better in his goddamn life. It was, of course, the exact same scent he’d picked up from Bokuto earlier, but this time around it was _stronger_ and made Kuroo feel slightly light-headed again, just like all those months ago at the practice match. Even though he didn’t particularly enjoy the mild dizziness, the scent settled him in a way he had never experienced.

Kuroo opened his eyes as, apparently, he had closed them, only to see Bokuto staring strangely at him. “What’s wrong?” were the first words out of his mouth as he dropped his fistful of the alpha’s shirt, slight unease gathering in his gut at Bokuto’s undefinable expression. It was probably weird for Bokuto, huh? To see Kuroo of all people in his number?

“It’s just a little jarring seeing you in my shirt,” Bokuto admitted tentatively, and Kuroo lifted a brow.

That could be interpreted in several ways. ‘Jarring’ in a good way or bad way? Kuroo then took a moment to examine his own plain red shirt on the alpha, and he swallowed roughly when he noticed it was tighter around Bokuto’s chest, defining his pectorals in a way that made Kuroo wholeheartedly thank the divine beings up in heaven for such a blessing. It got Kuroo’s approval, that was for damn sure.

Bokuto shook his head, seeming to literally shake off whatever funk he had fallen into before he sniffed lightly at Kuroo’s shirt. After a brief contemplation period, Bokuto finally inquired, “So, what do we smell like to you?”

At the question, Kuroo, brows furrowing, returned his attentions to the new scent that tantalizingly teased his nostrils. And color him surprised when, after a few more deep breaths, he was finally able to distinguish his own scent (the infamous ‘citrus’). It was mixing with Bokuto’s earthy, wooden tones in a way that caused a shiver to wrack down his spine and end in his toes because _damn_ that combination of rich, musky nature and crisp orange was too addicting for its own good.

Kuroo wanted to get officially engaged to a scent and take it to bed every night to make sweet, sweet love to it. “I was thinking an orange orchard planted in the middle of the woods,” he breathed contentedly, his lids half-lowered as his throat nearly rumbled in delight. It was simply incredible, he was awed and humbled that their scents were so compatible in the first place.

Bokuto hummed in thought before agreeing with a slight nod that may or may not have caused Kuroo’s heart to jump with childish hope, and the alpha shifted from foot to foot as he considered his next words. “Alright, I can definitely understand what you’re saying, but…” he paused and Kuroo inquiringly tilted his head, “you know that smell when they clean the court’s wooden flooring with that orange Pine-Sol cleaner?”

“Dude, why did you have to say that to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still can’t believe Daichi is dead
> 
> Next Update: **03/25/2018** (or, apparently, 3/24/2018)


	3. Step 2. Oh, Alpha, My Alpha!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you caught me  
> this was all just an elaborate ploy to push my secret KenHina agenda

Step 2. Oh, Alpha, My Alpha! 

_“Alright, so you’ve flushed your suppressants down the drain (disclaimer: our researchers here at our headquarters ask you to please not flush your medications down the toilet or sink!), so what’s next? Even though you smell like sugar and spice and everything nice, are you still having trouble getting your alpha to notice your second gender? Well, no problem! Let them know that you’re an interested, single omega who’s ready to mingle by calling them ‘alpha’ or, if you’re daring, ‘my alpha’! It’ll snag their interests, and maybe, if you’re lucky, they’ll start to call you their little omega! I’m swooning, someone catch me!”_  
-Excerpt from ‘How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps!’ pg 38-39, _Omega Teen Magazine_

It was a blazing Saturday afternoon, and there was a constant thrum of people walking through the automatics sliding doors of the local grocery store, it's interior freezing, courtesy of the industrial-sized air conditioning units, in comparison to the boiling heat outside. The noise level inside the superstore was deafening as the wheels of the customer’s shopping carts squeaked, and not even the sound of cash registers pinging off after scanning each singular item could successfully drown out the whining complaints of the soccer moms inspecting the new influx of fruits nor the child in Aisle 7 screaming about fish.

His elbows planted firmly on the metal handlebars and his back nearly hunched over in half, Kuroo leisurely pushed the grocery cart into Aisle 3 as he dutifully followed Kenma through the store. Annoyingly enough, the cart had a wonky wheel that caused the hunk of metal to veer to the right, so Kuroo had to jerk his entire body leftwards and forcefully drag the cart back into a straight line before he barreled over a child that jumped unexpectedly out from behind a stand of canned vegetables. The toddler, unknowingly the almost victim of a hit and run (because Kuroo would have peeled out of there before a protective mother would have come running to their child’s aid and knocked his front teeth out), escaped with his life in tow for today as he slipped into the next aisle with a high-pitched giggle and the words ‘mom, look I picked a banana!’ spilling from his mouth.

Crisis adverted, Kuroo slumped further over the grocery cart as he blew out a slow breath while Kenma unceremoniously dropped several containers of spices for the coconut curry his relatives were planning on cooking for tonight, much to Kuroo’s jealousy. The two of them were undergoing a rather unexciting mission of collecting groceries, as said beta had oh so graciously offered like the good nephew he was. Kenma had explained that he had offered in a show of gratitude to his relatives for housing him and feeding him warm meals, but Kuroo knew it was all a fib.

Kuroo could see through his actions like glass, it was easy to tell that the beta, not used to the sudden multiplication of family members, had just wanted to momentarily escape from the constant barrage of his hospitable relatives --though Kuroo didn’t think volunteering to shop at a crowded grocery store was as relaxing as Kenma had hoped it would be, as presented by his tense shoulders.

Kuroo lifted his head and his gaze slid over the beta, noting his friend’s exhausted gaze (which was, in fact, different from both his I’m Trying Not To Fall Asleep™ expression and his Generally Tired Of Life™ #7 gaze) and the slight crease between his thin eyebrows. A whole twenty-four hours with his family had seemed to tire Kenma out, and the beta practically dragged his feet into the next aisle with a scrap of paper that served as their short shopping list held loosely in his grip. Kenma looked pitiable, and Kuroo had to stamp down the immediate awakening of his motherly instincts that wanted to swaddle his childhood friend in blankets, cook him some stew, and tuck him into bed for a well-deserved, long night’s rest.

He couldn’t help his emotions, he was just so _touched_. Kenma had been the one to text him, asking if he wanted to meet at the train station and join him on his little shopping excursion, and Kuroo had nearly teared up because even though Kenma was socially exhausted, the beta still had preserved enough energy for Kuroo himself. It touched Kuroo’s heart and made him want to pick the beta up and proudly present him for the entire world to see.

Kenma was leaving back for Tokyo on Monday, so of course Kuroo wanted to spend every last second of the weekend with the guy, even if that meant spending his Saturday afternoon in a crowded grocery store pushing a cart that may or may not be possessed by an evil spirit, as he didn’t know when he would be able to see him again after the next school term started. Undoubtedly, they would FaceTime once a week as per tradition, but it just wasn’t the same as being able to watch Kenma blatantly ignore his presence when he was fed up with Kuroo in person.

As Kenma seriously studied the sodium contents for two different cans of diced tomatoes, Kuroo reluctantly turned his attention back to his phone propped up in his hands. Displayed on his phone screen was, unfortunately, a picture of the _Omega Teen Magazine_ page he had ripped out in the coffee shop, it’s pastel pink and purple contents forever immortalized as a picture in his photos app.

Because Kuroo was an intellectual, last night he had snapped a picture of the page before destroying all evidence of the magazine out of sheer paranoia that Bokuto would somehow stumble upon his sins (why the hell Bokuto would be shuffling around his room and looking between his spring pad and mattress, Kuroo didn’t know, but here he was anyway). After taking the picture of both sides of the magazine page, Kuroo had stood in his bathroom and flushed the paper down the toilet, watching the magazine piece swirl in the water and disappear like the shit it was.

Kuroo unattractively scrunched his nose as he read the article again, hoping its content had miraculously changed and would advise him to do something that didn’t make him want to puke in his mouth. He was actually disgusted by what he read on the screen; the ‘professionals’ wanted him to casually call Bokuto by his secondary gender or, even worse, call him ‘my alpha’. What the hell was running through their microorganism brains when they wrote this? Where could Kuroo send in his letters of complaint, and did they prefer handwritten letters through the post office or emails?

This was only something young kids did when they played with one another (though the mandatory secondary gender blood tests weren’t administered until the first year of midle school, sometimes kids just _knew_ ), or  _actual mates_ \--and even then it was disgusting to overhear, like goddamn have some semblance of pride or public decency. Kuroo couldn’t even imagine the situation where he’d willingly call Bokuto ‘alpha’… well, brake the hate train, yeah, he had called the dude ‘alpha’ on several occasions, but it had always been in a mocking manner. During matches against Fukurodani, whenever they faced off and his block successfully deflected the ace’s powered strike, Kuroo particularly enjoyed nailing Bokuto with a sarcastic ’ _hah, so close, alpha_ ’, his body shivering with utter joy when Bokuto growled lightly at him before throwing back a provocative quip of his own in return.

But purposely and affectionately calling Bokuto ‘alpha’? Kuroo didn’t even know where to start. Was the title interchangeable with his name? Could Kuroo just saunter into the kitchen one morning while Bokuto sat at the table, munching on fucking toast, and casually greet him with a ‘morning, did you make some for little old me, alpha?’ The very image earned a physical reaction from him, and Kuroo made a strangled noise not unlike one a cat would make if it was simultaneously caterwauling and drowning, which got him a heavily judgmental look from a grandma alpha as she passed by with her soy milk clenched in her hands.

At his sudden spluttering, Kenma side eyed him with an expression uncomfortably similar to the one the grandma had sent him, but after a heartbeat the beta, probably accustomed to his superfluous noises, turned around and lead them out of the dry goods aisle and into the refrigerated section. Kuroo faithfully followed with only minor hassling of the grocery cart as it tried to steer into a stand of lovingly stacked containers of seasoning while he went back to making disgusted faces at his phone screen.

How the hell was he supposed to execute this step? Calling Bokuto by his secondary gender would be nauseatingly weird, for both parties involved. But send him a fucking participation medal because Kuroo at least tried to imagine himself carrying on the magazine’s prompt. He tried envisioning the two of them sitting on the couch and Kuroo himself suddenly crawling into the surprised alpha’s lap and sweetly cooing the word with affection --and, oh god, was that fucking heartburn he felt in his chest? He loved his bro, but he still had dignity.

Feeling a little nauseous, Kuroo finally exited out of his photo album because he loved himself and wouldn’t let his eyes stare at that garbage for too long. Shame on the magazine for making him read this step with his own two eyes. This prompt was physically impossible for him, and the only instance where Kuroo could picture himself unironically calling Bokuto ‘alpha’ was on the throes of heat or some shit --you know, that time of his ovulation cycle where he lost all ration thinking in exchange for being abnormally horny. Shit, was this even a thing, or did the writers at this magazine’s headquarters just pull it out of their asses? Were they bitter because they were probably single themselves and they wanted to spread misinformation, so they could watch the world burn? Did alpha-omega pairs actually call their mates by their secondary genders?

As he jerked their grocery cart to a screechy halt in front of the giant refrigerators filled with varieties of milk, Kuroo tried to think if he knew any pairs who did, but he was drawing blanks, which was a good thing because if he had scrounged up some names who did, then he would have immediately cut all ties... but what about Oikawa and Iwaizumi? The two were visiting tomorrow, so maybe he could ask them for their input? He couldn’t ever recall them using such _distasteful means_ of relaying affection, but it wasn’t as if Kuroo was constantly around them to hear it if they did. He could confront them tomorrow when they all would gather to hang out.

Tomorrow, he told himself as his curiosity forced him to open his messages app and begin furiously typing out a text to Oikawa. Kuroo lightly bit his cheek as his fingers flew across the screen, and in the back of his mind he wondered if he actually wanted to know the answer or not. What would he do if Oikawa said yes? By what means would he cut the two completely out of his life as quick as possible, and how would he explain the situation to Bokuto when he told the alpha that they could never associate with the alpha-omega pair ever again less they catch their cooties?

After a few seconds of typing, Kuroo glanced over the text that read ’ _sup, random question, do you call Iwaizumi ur omega like outside the bedroom? no deets or else i’ll tell Iwaizumi that u cried like a bitch baby when u dropped the lunch he made u that 1 time_ ’, before nodding to himself and pressing send. Straight and to the point. A weird sensation of completion fell over Kuroo as soon as he fired off the text, as if he had accomplished something today, and he wondered who else he could interrogate for this little research project he was developing.

Kuroo finally looked up from his phone to see Kenma, who just so happened to be in a loving relationship with an omega himself, placing a carton of coconut milk into the grocery cart as he remained oblivious to Kuroo’s contemplation. The beta’s eyes stared down at the list while the omega leaned forwards, the handlebars pressing uncomfortably into his gut, while he couldn’t help but wonder —which was, admittedly, a little hypocritical of him because two days ago he had reaffirmed the fact that he, by no means, wanted to have any knowledge whatsoever of his childhood friend’s love life with that energetic whirlwind from Karasuno. They weren’t an alpha-omega pair, but, oh, what the hell, it was worth a shot.

“Hey, Kenma, I have a question,” he started out, keeping his tone airy and free from any warranted suspicion as he pocketed his phone. When he captured Kenma’s attention and the beta spared him an inquiring glance, Kuroo smiled what he hoped was an easygoing smile before finishing, “I know this sounds weird, and you’re not an alpha and all, but do you still call Hinata your omega, like, around the house?” And not inside the bedroom because, please, he was an innocent good omega boy who wanted to remain pure and untainted by the primal bodily desires of his friends.

Kenma’s immediate visceral reaction was one of horror as he stood next to the skim milk, his eyes widening minutely and mouth parting in either shock or the instinct to scream, it could be either one. It was the exact look the beta donned whenever a store employee singled him out and asked if he needed help finding anything, and Kuroo kind of felt guilty for traumatizing him. Thankfully, after a few seconds Kenma stopped looking like he had just witnessed his comrades get slain in the battlefield, and his expression relaxed into a much more familiar one of exasperation as he looked away muttered, “I’m not going to answer that one.”

What an uncooperative guy, Kuroo was just trying to pry extremely personal and uncomfortable information out of him while they were out in public. “Oh, come on,” Kuroo encouraged lowly as Kenma made a face that could only be properly represented by the words ‘no, that’s weird, you’re weird’. “All I need is a nod or shake of the head, that’s it, so spill.” A nod or shake of the head, a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, a lovingly handwritten letter, Morse code, sign language, there was no discrimination here Kuroo would accept all answers with welcome arms.

Apparently he was not convincing enough, as the beta turned around and began walking towards the checkout without a single glance back, both seemingly done with the conversation and the grocery shopping, and Kuroo trailed behind with a dramatic sigh as he heaved the metal cart forwards, the wheels screeching and scratching against the tiled floor. Maybe during the walk to the train station, he’d be able to swindle the information out of Kenma, and whether that involved bribing him with buying DLC packs or wrapping his arms around Kenma’s legs and refusing to let go until he revealed his secrets, Kuroo was equally open to both options. He just really wanted to get his friend’s opinion, because, who knew, maybe this whole calling your crush or partner by their secondary gender idea was like a hip, new _thing_ going around the youth that Kuroo was not informed about.

When Kenma’s smaller stature disappeared around the corner behind a wall of canned soup, Kuroo jerkily maneuvered the clunky cart around the bend, nearly running over his second child of the day as the corner of his cart barely missed a quite shocked little girl. With a drawn sigh, Kuroo stared wistfully at the back of Kenma’s plain black t-shirt. He wondered if Kenma even thought about the kind of crap Kuroo was currently trudging through, and with another sigh he voiced his complaints, “You betas have it so easy.” Damn, what he wouldn’t give to be in Kenma’s shoes.

At that, Kenma did briefly glance backwards with slightly pinched brows, and Kuroo huffed, mildly offended. For one, they didn’t have to stress about predetermined gender roles that, though were admittingly improving with each passing decade, still caused strife for all those who found themselves deviating from the expected norm. It was unfair, betas didn’t have to worry about all this alpha and omega crap --didn’t have their bodies get sent through quarterly heat or annual rut cycles, didn’t have to function with extra estrogen or testosterone hormones constantly flooding their brains, and weren’t pressured from a ripe young age of twelve to attract the alpha or omega that would ‘complete them’.

As a beta, Kenma wouldn’t have even considered the damn magazine’s love advice (well, he wouldn’t consider following the prompts seriously, but maybe the beta might think about following it ironically like Kuroo was --because that’s what Kuroo was doing. Doing it for the new inside jokes, and not in hope that it would actually work, remember? Yeah). Not to mention, a beta-omega relationship sounded pretty fucking nice to Kuroo, as it sounded a hell of a lot calmer and less dramatic than an alpha-omega relationship. Too bad Kuroo‘s heart was dead set on one certain alpha who he could never seem to completely erase from his mind, or else he might be open for a beta mate.

“So lucky,” Kuroo groaned lowly, not noticing Kenma twitch and hunch his shoulders inwards, before racing on, “Must be so nice that you’re a beta dating an omega like chibi-chan. You two don’t have to worry about dynamics and stereotypes and shit.” At his mildly offensive language, a beta mother glanced up from where she was picking out school snacks with her young two children (looked like twins, congratulations), a horrified expression marring her face before Kuroo wheeled casually past her. That made two upset passersby whom he had personally offended, he was on a roll today. Maybe he should go for three before they left the supermarket, just for funsies.

Kenma didn’t have to concern himself over this damn feeble omega stereotype that the media pushed (yeah, _Omega Teen Magazine_ , he was looking at you) that Kuroo had never felt a part of. Believe it or not, his ‘abnormal’ personality and taller height had once made him feel kind of shitty back in middle school because he was out there practicing volleyball and scuffing his knees while the other omega kids sat around picking flowers or admiring butterflies.

Kuroo had thought he had been the weird one, and it had taken him until the end of middle school to realize he only felt that way because he had only been paying attention to the omegas that did fit their gender roles. While he obsessively focused on the omegas who gushed on about motherhood or bragged about how they had lost three pounds, Kuroo failed to notice the dozen of other fellow omegas who were flinging mud balls at their classmates or climbing tall trees as the bark scratched their hands.

This mind-blowing realization of his had come back for another K.O. round in volleyball too. When he opened those steel doors to the gym in his first year of high school, there wasn’t a single alpha or beta that had judged him for playing, which was something Kuroo had been mentally preparing for, but instead only judged him when he sucked.

And then when he had snagged the position of captain, yeah, there were the alphas who got all testy about it, but it wasn’t because of his secondary gender. It was because the competitive alphas had been vying for the very position Kuroo had earned himself. Turns out, as Kuroo had learned, that when he didn’t believe everyone in the world was out to get him (and that most of them didn’t care about his omega status nearly as much as he originally thought they did), he was able to enjoy himself. Revolutionary idea, he knew, but it had taken years for him to understand it.

But still, it would have saved Kuroo a tremendous amount of grief if he hadn’t had to worry about it in the first place, and he still had his own bodily functions to stress over. As Kenma ducked his head, Kuroo groaned lightly, not caring if anyone overheard him, “Oh, god, and heats, don’t get me started on heats. But you don’t have to worry about it.” Betas, the lucky bastards, weren’t affected by the smell of an omega in heat, so that Karasuno shrimp probably trusted Kenma to share his heat with him, and, disgusting, Kuroo never wanted to think about Kenma in a remotely sexual manner again for the rest of his life.

But, goddammit, Kuroo wanted that blind trust, knowing that his alpha partner would be able to control himself even when Kuroo was pumping out pheromones like a damn sexy essential oil scent diffuser. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had thought he had that level of trust in Bokuto, but then the alpha went and said that _fucking sentence yesterday_ and now Kuroo felt a mixture of betrayal and ‘damn that’s fucking hot’.

In the end he couldn’t let that statement just slide, and it had been haunting him ever since he closed his eyes last night to catch some sleep. He was positive he had even dreamt about it, where Bokuto repeated the line but this time the two of them where practicing their serves at those person-shaped training targets the police used in their gun ranges.

 _‘I sure as hell don’t trust myself around in-heat Kuroo, you already smell great’_ and _‘Nice head shot’_ , echoed in Kuroo’s brain as he dejectedly sighed, “Wish I was like you, you two have it all.”

Kenma froze to a halt in the middle of the walkway, and Kuroo spluttered out a curse as he jerked the shopping cart to a sudden brake before he clipped the heels of his friend with the wheels. Ignoring Kuroo’s immediate noise of compliant, Kenma turned his head to the side as his narrow golden eyes bore harshly into the tiled flooring, refusing to make direct eye-contact. “ _Stop it_ ,” the beta demanded, and Kuroo tensed at his friend’s tone.

“I have my own struggles too, you know,” Kenma whispered, and even Kuroo’s ears strained to pick up the words amongst the distracting noise of the grocery store that surrounded them. Kenma had clenched his hands, the dude’s knuckles paled with the exerted force with the shopping list crumpled in his right hand, before the beta muttered tensely, “Unlike _you_ and _Bokuto_ , I can never bite him and have the claiming mark stay, so don’t _say that_.”

Dismissing the conversation, Kenma looked frontwards and reached behind him, grabbing the end of the metal cart before dragging in into an open self-checkout line while Kuroo tripped over his feet when the cart was jerked out of his hands. His mind racing as a heavy silence fell over them, Kuroo rushed forwards to begin checking out their small haul of groceries while Kenma fumed to the side and swiped his phone from his pockets, no doubt opening up a mobile app to play out his frustrations.

Fuck, Kuroo had never really thought about it that way, and Kenma looked pissed as hell, of which he had every right to be because Kuroo was an insensitive _idiot_ sometimes. Guilt creeping up his spine, Kuroo hunched his shoulders as if the blame physically weighed him down as he picked up the groceries from the cart. He must have accidentally stuck a tight nerve for Kenma to whisper-yell at him, god, did he mention how much of an idiot he was?

Kuroo grimaced as he fumbled to scan the spices, his palms uncharacteristically sweaty, and he wondered if Kenma was playing a fighting game and was imaging Kuroo’s head on every enemy he slaughtered. One by one, the items beeped loudly once the machine scanned their barcode, and the cost racked up on the screen while Kuroo awkwardly avoiding looking at a very pissed off Kenma. Truthfully, Kuroo had forgotten how rare and weird a beta-omega pair was, and of course Kenma was right when he said they’d come with their own troubles, no relationship was perfect. Fuck, Kuroo didn’t know how to make this better, he was the world’s largest dumbass.

On both his metaphorical and literal tiptoes, Kuroo didn’t dare to break the uncomfortable silence as he clumsily pulled out the money Kenma’s relatives had given the beta (and then Kenma had given Kuroo before they had walked into the store) from his pockets and fumbled with the options on the screen to pay without a card. He hadn’t even known Kenma was stressing over the impossibility of administering a mating mark on the rowdy pipsqueak, which made him feel like a shitty friend, because how long had Kenma had these concerns?

Kuroo gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he hurriedly grabbed the four shopping bags with their groceries when a sudden thought came to him. Oh, fuck, should he even be talking about Bokuto to Kenma, or was that making the beta feel more inferior?

While Kuroo mentally panicked, Kenma pocketed his phone and calmly pushed the now emptied shopping cart as Kuroo puttered guiltily behind him. They exited the grocery store without speaking a word to each other, and Kuroo was too tense to even complain about the rush of clammy, heated air that enveloped them as soon as they stepped outside the air-conditioned building. The intense sun’s rays instantly blinded him while the heat cooked him alive, but Kuroo was too fixed on his mental suffering to pay attention to his bodily suffering.

After Kenma returned the cart, the beta gently grabbed two of the plastic bags from Kuroo’s grip, effectively sending the omega into a miniature cardiac arrest. Kuroo kept shooting uncertain glances Kenma as they began their walk to the train station, waiting for... for _something_ ; waiting for Kenma to scold him for his impertinence, waiting for Kenma to clip that he’d take a cab home, waiting for Kenma to pull a divorce contract out of his ass and deadpan ‘sign here to terminate our friendship for one month’, anything.

After Kuroo had non-so-subtly glanced down at him, Kenma blew out a heavy breath (scaring the crap out of him for the second time within a short span of sixty seconds) and muttered to the baking asphalt, “I know what you are thinking, Kuro, you don’t have to stop talking about your gross crush on Bokuto.” Kuroo deflated with relief, as Kenma tentatively looked up at him and said with sincerity shining in his eyes, “I like hearing how you’re doing at university, and that includes what’s happening with Bokuto.”

An angel, Kenma was his little angel that only knew of mercy and forgiveness, how Kuroo didn’t deserve such a beautiful baby boy. But seriously, Kuroo hadn’t known that he’d been holding his breath until it whooshed out of him in one pleased sigh. The tension leaving his body, Kuroo tipped his head and apologized with a slightly ashamed shrug of his shoulders, “I’m sorry, though, for bringing up the private topic.” And then acting so flippant about it.

Kenma nodded and Kuroo took that as a sign that the beta acknowledged and accepted his apology. As they continued walking, Kenma lightly kicked a stray piece of gravel in their path, and he turned away to intensely study the laces of his shoes. “Also… sorry,” Kenma hesitantly repented, and before Kuroo could rush in and say that he had nothing to apologize for, his friend explained, “I have just been a little… irritated lately, because, ah, Shouyou’s heat is coming up in two weeks…”

Oh, label Kuroo fucking enlightened because now he understood. No wonder why his friend had blown up at him (well, at least Kenma’s calmer version of ‘blowing up’), Kuroo hadn’t seen him that upset since he started university. He had unknowingly stepped on a landmine, hadn’t he?

Kuroo made some complicated noise of understanding as he gently swung the plastic bags in his grip and pretended that the sudden air of awkwardness at Kenma’s admission was just his imagination. He really, really, really didn’t want to know more about the situation then what could be described in a five-worded sentence, for the more words meant the more details that would make Kuroo want to upchuck his lunch. That being said, before he could stop himself, he asked hesitantly, “You want to talk about it?” Because his childhood friend was far more important than the helping of chicken and sautéed vegetables he had eaten earlier today for lunch.

His gaze still glued to the ground with something akin to a blush creeping up his ears, Kenma bit his lip while Kuroo patiently waited with an encouraging look, refusing to acknowledge the embarrassing topic for both of their sakes. The beta wrung his hands together as he confessed quietly, “I’m just scared that one day Shouyou will realize I can’t... you know... satisfy him...” The longer he talked, the quieter his voice got until the last two words were nearly imperceptible.

And, boy, did Kuroo wish they had been. The omega hummed and desperately tried not to think too hard about Kenma’s words as he swung his grocery bags harder. He could easily see where Kenma was coming from, though, and earlier the beta had mentioned how he couldn’t claim Hinata with a mating bite, which was also true. His insecurities were valid, as there was one thing that omegas tended to want the most during heat, and that was something Kenma biologically lacked as a beta. Damn, and there he had been on the grocery store bemoaning about how wonderful and peaceful a beta-omega relationship would be.

With these thoughts reeling around in his mind, Kuroo was utterly wordless, and he told Kenma so instead of bullshitting his way through some half-assed reassurances when he leveled his childhood friend with a determined look and asked, “What could I say to make you feel better?” And he didn’t mean that in an asshole way, he truly wanted to know so he could lift the guy’s spirit whether that be directly talking about his insecurity or buying him a fucking ice cream with an apple pastry on this hot summers day.

“Distract me,” Kenma whispered simply with a shrug that was too stiff to be casual. Kuroo felt cruddy that he couldn’t magically solve all the setter’s problems, but at the very least Kenma seemed grateful to finally move on from the problem. “What was that whole thing about? What you asked me first?” Though still soft, his voice became more confident as he looked up at Kuroo, curious.

At the very mention of it, Kuroo made a sour facial expression as he was forced to remember his earlier predicament. Much to Kenma’s confusion, he shook his head, god, it was so bad that it earned a physical reaction from him. “The magazine,” Kuroo explained blandly, his voice drained of both life and excitement, while he stared determinedly forwards. Apparently, that was not enough to properly disclose the situation, because Kenma made a soft questioning noise, and Kuroo begrudgingly elaborated, “The second step of the magazine wants me to call Bokuto ‘alpha’ in conversation.”

Kenma looked rightly revolted, a feeling that Kuroo felt on a literal, allegorical, and spiritual level, before the beta asked, “So are you going to do it?” Kenma hadn’t even heard his answer yet and the setter was already fighting to hide his immediate response of disgust, which was, again, completely justifiable and Kuroo did not fault him for that at all. In fact, he appreciated Kenma’s attempt to hide his instinctual reaction.

He had opened his mouth to respond, but his answer was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket, signaling an incoming text that graciously gave him more time to procrastinate his answer to Kenma’s reasonable question. Kuroo clumsily shuffled the grocery bags into one hand before whipping out his phone and unlocking it to find a response from Oikawa (oh, yeah, he had forgotten about the guy) reading ’ _of course i do ! ( *¯ ³¯*)╯♡ :・ﾟ✧ i call him my sweet little omega and he luvs it!!! also be prepared 2 be obliterated 2morrow ♡♡♡♡_ ’.

Kuroo called bullshit. There was no way in hell Iwaizumi would allow Oikawa to continue breathing on this earth if the alpha setter was speaking the truth, and Kuroo respected Iwaizumi enough not to be swayed by the dirty rumors being spread by his own mate. But, even so, that settled it. If Oikawa --supposedly-- used the second gender nicknames, then Kuroo sure as hell wasn’t going to.

His expression turning steely, Kuroo shoved his phone back into his short’s pocket as he gravely stated, “I’d rather die.” While Kenma nodded at him with a newfound type of respect, Kuroo promised himself that he would take the next one super seriously.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you caught me  
> this was all just an elaborate ploy to push my secret omega!Iwaizumi agenda
> 
> and to ao3 user kookies_cookies.... bAbe if you’re still out there... im so sorry for hurting you like this with this decision of mine, but i just couldn’t help myself !!!1! i love you, yet I don’t deserve you!! and sometimes i can still hear your voice [i havent stopped laughing over nomega bokuno fu Ck]
> 
> Next Update: **4/8/2018** (or earlier if I get too excited)


	4. Step 3. Praise Your Alpha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kookies_cookies… babe, look away for i have sinned, 
> 
>    
>  _.. but i don’t regret it_

Step 3. Praise Your Alpha

  _“Being the prideful beings that they naturally are, no alpha can resist a few well-worded compliments, trust us! Take a few days to just fawn over your hot alpha crush, let him or her know that you think that new shirt defines their chest perfectly, or mention that their oh so strong when they open that jelly jar for you *swoons*! This third step will make your alpha crush start looking at you in a different way when he or she realizes that you appreciate their testosterone and strength, and they’ll be confessing their love to you at any second!”_

 -Excerpt from ‘How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps!’ pg 38-39, _Omega Teen Magazine_

There was a cacophony of sounds that echoed throughout the spacious, nearly empty university gym as five players ran around practicing new techniques or shagging balls. There was the dull whack of volleyballs meeting the flesh of hands and forearms, the ringing of carefree laughter, the boom of volleyballs smacking into the court flooring with deadly speed, and the general chatter of the players catching up with one another in between sets; several of said players having rather large personalities that made the expansive gym sound a little less empty with their constant laughter or mocking challenges. Sweat steadily dripped off their faces and soaked into the stitched collars of their t-shirts, almost as if they had spent the afternoon outside with the blazing August sun instead of inside the air-conditioned court.

Kuroo blew out a stuttered breath as he jerkily wiped his dripping face with his towel while he walked off the court with burning calves. Legs shaky and his arms blooming with a shocking shade of scarlet, his body was relearning the bodily demands of playing volleyball, and Kuroo wobbled his way over to the benches as he hoped his swaying gait looked more like a confident swagger. The hand towel’s fabric was rough against his cheeks when he dragged it down his face, and he ungracefully collapsed onto the sideline benches when his legs finally gave out.

His muscles were already sore, which meant, damn, he was not looking forward to tomorrow. Throwing the towel around the back of his neck, Kuroo slid his gaze over the court with a long-winded sigh as he hunched over and propped his elbows on top of his knees. Being the only middle blocker amongst an overwhelming sea of setters and wing spikers --and, of course, as per his luck, each spiker being the ace of their old high school team-- was not all sunshine and flowers, and it was nearly suffocating the way he was constantly being hounded to block practice spikes.

He hadn’t even found the time to convince Oikawa to help him practice his rusty jump serve (read: bribe or threaten, but leaning towards bribing because Kuroo was a little terrified of how Oikawa would get him back if he tried to threaten the guy. Oikawa, with a devilish glint in his eyes that screamed ‘bad intentions’, was already aiming serves at him, no doubt acting all pissy over Kuroo’s text yesterday where he had basically blackmailed the setter for a reply, even though Oikawa had responded with a --hopefully-- blatant lie along with his vaguely threatening warning).

Shaking his metaphorical fist at the sky and cursing the other volleyball positions, Kuroo watched Iwaizumi spring into the air and spike the ball past the unguarded net, and watched the ball slam into the opposite side’s wooden flooring with a nasty twang. It was a powerful spike, but it wasn’t all that impressive considering there was no one attempting to block it on the other side of the net as Kuroo himself was dying over here on the bench and Bokuto and Kenma were chatting by the sidelines.

Well, perhaps ‘chatting’ was too strong of a word. Kenma stood outside the court, clenching a blue, yellow, and white volleyball in his grip as if the ball was a lifesaver, as he leaned away from a looming Bokuto. The alpha had slid over to Kenma and was slanting his body into Kenma’s personal bubble while his mouth ran at least seventy miles an hour. From what Kuroo could faintly hear from across the court, Bokuto was passionately admiring Kenma’s improved setting skills and rating it on a scale from one to Akaashi, much to the beta’s steadily increasing discomfort.

Kuroo had to beat down the automatic, upwards twitch of his lips at the picture of his two best friends in the entire region because if Kenma leaned any further away from the towering ace, he’d fall over like a top-heavy idiot. He, out of anyone, knew that Kenma couldn’t exactly handle Bokuto, and Kuroo had half the mind to save the poor guy, but unfortunately his legs were certified, non-GMO gelatin at the moment so, good luck, Kenma.

But, honestly, Kuroo was patiently awaiting the day when Kenma would accept Bokuto with either open arms or begrudging tolerance, because Bokuto was basically a long Hinata with a spoonful of pride, a teaspoon of dramatics, and a sprinkle of mild assholery. And if Kenma could fall head first for Hinata Shouyou, who was an actual concentrated ball of energy, then he could learn to endure this rather loud owl of his. After reconciling with one another, Kenma had even cultured and maintained a friendship with Taketora, so it was just a matter of time before the beta would give in to Bokuto’s sunshine-in-physical-form grin or his sick party trick of wiggling his ears.

But, other than his burning calf muscles and Kenma’s stubborn refusal to adore every fiber of Bokuto’s being, Kuroo was having a fucking blast. Simply put, he felt _alive_. His pulse was still pounding heavily in his ears, his blood rushed to supply oxygen to his demanding muscles, and his sweat was cooling pleasantly against the nape of his neck as he played volleyball with formidable and worthy opponents that challenged him physically and mentally --it was _exhilarating_. Oikawa was a goddamn tactical strategist that kept Kuroo constantly throwing himself across the wooden flooring while the power behind Iwaizumi’s strikes rivaled Bokuto’s, the fellow omega transforming the pure volleyball into a dangerous missile projectile that made Kuroo wince whenever it slammed into his forearms.

And who gave a crap about grueling physical discomfort because this day was the highlight of his fucking week. Kenma had knocked on their apartment door at a respectable eight o’clock in the morning, meaning the three of them had plenty of time to talk over breakfast while Kenma judgmentally eyed the tower of dishes in the sink (he might be slacking on dish duty lately, using the excuse that he’d compulsively clean it all later in the days right before his heat) and the growing pile of mildly moldy socks in the dark corner of the living room (Kuroo didn’t have an excuse for this one, at this point both him and Bokuto were too scared to touch the sock pile that had become a colonization ground for the long, multi‑celled filaments known as fungi).

After they ate breakfast, they had walked to the university’s gymnasium where Oikawa and Iwaizumi were waiting for them in front of the wide doors with their duffel bags slung across their shoulders. Iwaizumi had politely greeted them while Oikawa had checked his chin with a slightly more pointed smile, pride gleaming in his brown eyes as his gaze shifted obviously between his and Iwaizumi’s matching green volleyball team jackets. Five seconds hadn’t even passed and the setter was already showing off, really, Kuroo shouldn’t have expected anything else, and Oikawa’s ego was only stoked further when Bokuto heartily congratulated them for becoming an official pair since they’d last hung out with Oikawa.

When the brunette had haughtily laughed and thanked Bokuto, Kuroo had narrowed his eyes at the alpha setter, still unable to determine Oikawa’s true motives for accepting their invitation; had the alpha visited to brag about Iwaizumi or humiliate them with his newfound, college-level techniques, Kuroo couldn’t tell, and by Iwaizumi’s slightly pinched expression as the ace studied the setter, neither could the fellow omega. But, at least Iwaizumi seemed prepared to be pissed off if it was the former.

Thankfully Bokuto had borrowed the gym’s keys from his team’s captain, so after the initial greeting where all five of them did the whole complementary ‘hi, it’s been awhile, yes, you two do make a rather lovely couple, Oikawa’, they immediately filed into the empty gymnasium to begin playing, everyone visibly excited as Bokuto practically skipped to grab the net and equipment from the storage closet. Well, everyone apart from Kenma, who had actually followed Bokuto into the closet at a much calmer pace to probably avoid the alpha-omega pair that were complete strangers to him.

The only things Kenma probably knew about Oikawa and Iwaizumi was Kuroo’s personal testimony about the pair ( _’Huh, what are they like? Well, ah, Oikawa is a mastermind and an asshole, so I automatically both respect him and kind of love him, and Iwaizumi is pretty chill, does that help?’_ ), and that his midget boyfriend’s team beat them in an official match. That’s probably all Kenma wanted to know anyway.

But, yeah, so far it had been a good day. Kuroo remembered sitting at their dinky kitchen table earlier that morning, tempting fate by rocking dangerously backwards in the stiff wooden chair, while the sun filtered through the window and warmed his shoulders as Bokuto animatedly retold the story of their embarrassing first day of university classes to a quiet Kenma. Kuroo had breathed in deeply then, simply absorbing the tranquility, with a softer smile twisting up the corner of his lips because damn, he had felt more at peace than he had since this whole magazine thing started... and there he had to go and remind himself of the whole magazine ordeal.

A pained groan escaping his lips, Kuroo dragged his hand down his clammy face before he lifted his head, his eyes immediately searching for the asshole of an owl. Bokuto and Kenma had apparently finished chatting, and Bokuto was shouting out some intelligible syllable that was probably the word ‘mine’ as he lowered his body before springing into the air and spiking the ball set up by a fixedly engrossed Oikawa. Kuroo whistled lowly in appreciation as he tracked the alpha’s movements, watched as the guy’s shirt lifted through the momentum while his hand slammed against the volleyball. Iwaizumi and Kenma, his unlucky opponents, had jumped to meet his spike, and Kuroo could practically scent the relief pouring off the beta when the spinning volleyball connected with Iwaizumi’s arms instead.

The ball dropped onto Bokuto’s side of the net, and the scarily stern expression of concertation that hardened his glimmering yellow eyes melted off Bokuto’s face and was replaced by one of absolute devastation. Cursing loudly enough for the harsh words to echo throughout the gym, Bokuto’s hands jerked to pull roughly at his hair while Oikawa graciously acted along and sighed dramatically with a well-placed hand to his forehead. Kenma merely shook his head at the show of dramatics while Iwaizumi unhurriedly poked at his forearms to check for fractures in the bone.

Kuroo couldn’t hide his own low snicker at the absurd scene, but it seemed he wasn’t as discreet about his own amusement as he had assumed, because Bokuto’s head instantly snapped towards him with feigned betrayal. Cupping his hands around his mouth to raise his voice, though god knows he didn’t need to, Bokuto yelled out, “Hey, you! Shut up, benchwarmer!”

What a horribly rude guy, Kuroo wasn’t laughing at him, he was laughing _with_ him. Maybe. Alright, Kuroo was a dirty, filthy liar with no shame, without a doubt he was laughing at Bokuto’s stupid face. But, well then, he would just have to make it up to the dude. Since the morning, he’d been shouting out increasingly creative praises to the alpha, and he guessed another one was due now.

Kuroo brushed the nonexistent dust off his knees before standing up from the bench as he cried out, “No, no, you misinterpret me!” Putting a hand to his chest, Kuroo proudly announced with persuaded gumption behind his voice, “Because obviously only such a powerful spike could make the great university volleyball player Iwaizumi Hajime flinch! How only Bokuto Koutarou could establish such a feat!” Ah, yes, make up for a lie with another lie, what a perfect strategy and, whoa, he was really pulling out all the theatrics out with this one. It was a very silly praise for a very silly alpha.

While the others looked on in varying stages of disgust at the shameless praise, Bokuto paused, caught by surprise as he had probably been expecting one of Kuroo’s ingenious rebuttals (he liked to call his quips ‘intelligent’, others wrongly labeled them as ‘pettishly childish’), before a cocky smirk took up nearly half of his goddamn face, and Kuroo had to resist the urge to lift a palm and shield his eyes from the brightness that was Bokuto’s overjoyed expression because at this rate he’d need a pair of tinted sunglasses if he didn’t fancy going blind. The ace threw back his head and laughed on the court, and Oikawa, obviously unable to just stand by and allow such ghastly slander to be applied to Iwaizumi’s name, stepped forwards with several objections already leaving his mouth.

A job well done, Kuroo nodded in satisfaction to no one but himself as he stretched. All day he’d been dropping compliments, as per the magazine’s instructions, while Kenma stared expressionlessly at the floor as if he had grown tired of even reacting to Kuroo’s increasingly adoring praises. At the start of day Kenma had sighed in exasperation or covered his mouth like he was holding back bile whenever Kuroo cooed about how well Bokuto’s tank top showed off his bicep muscles, but now Kenma sat in impressionable silence as if he had accepted his grim fate and awaited the sweet release of death.

But, well, at least Kuroo hoped Kenma was just grossed out by his verbal claims of admiration, and, fuck, Kenma hadn’t been lying when he’d reassuringly told Kuroo that he didn’t mind all his Bokuto Talk™. Yesterday’s topic still worried Kuroo, and earlier during breakfast he had tried to mention it to Kenma after Bokuto had left to use the restroom. The beta had simply waved off his attempts to talk about it, claiming he was fine, and only after Kenma’s fifth reassurance that he was alright had Kuroo let it go.

And it seemed only Bokuto himself enjoyed the praises, unsurprisingly enough, and after Kuroo was finished bragging about the guy’s innate sense of hand-eye coordination, Bokuto would either heartily agree or embarrassedly scratch at his neck and shyly ask him to stop with an expression that contradictorily begged him to continue on. There was one problem, though, and that was running out of things to praise. Halfway into the day and he was already grasping for straws as he boasted about Bokuto’s toast making skills (‘ _It’s incredible, you know exactly how many minutes each of us prefers our toast! They always come out perfect!’_ ) or his five pairs of identical thigh-high kneepads. He hadn’t wanted to stoop so low as to fawn upon the damn thigh-highs that Bokuto promised weren’t all carbon copies and were varying shades of black, yet here he was, and Kuroo assumed that he’d soon be complimenting the alpha for merely breathing.

“Hey,” a lower voice called, jolting Kuroo from his thoughts where he had been remembering a nightmare where his entire old team at Nekoma donned thigh-high kneepads and laughed at his bare knees as they left to join Fukurodani, and Kuroo glanced forwards to see Iwaizumi approaching the bench.

The omega ace was wiping the sweat from his reddened face with a towel stitched with his college’s name and, man, college teams sure had the money to treat their players well. Back in his day, Kuroo had wiped the hard-earned sweat off with a ragged dish towel like the one currently thrown around his neck, the same one that he might have stolen from his mother’s kitchen when he moved out to the dorms.

While Kuroo pretended not to care about how his own hole-filled scrap of fabric paled in comparison, Iwaizumi tossed the fairer towel over his shoulder before pinching his eyebrows. “Don’t drag me into this,” he chided in a tone that did not sound unlike a disappointed mother. “Now he won’t shut up for the next three hours, and I’m the one who’ll be stuck with him on a train ride back to our hotel.”

Simultaneously, both omegas craned their heads to watch Bokuto trying to tug the volleyball from Oikawa’s steel grip --the dude had wrapped his arms around the ball and hugged it to his chest with a nearly possessive fury-- and the setter refused to let go until the other alpha admitted that Iwaizumi’s flinch was from surprise and not at all correlated to the power behind the spike.

While Bokuto snarled noisily in refusal and strained himself to pull apart Oikawa’s arms, Iwaizumi turned back around to meet Kuroo’s gaze and sternly continued, “Also, cool it with the PDA. Love on the court is not allowed, and that Kozume guy looks like he’s suffering from chronic migraines.” He jerked his thumb behind him, to where Kenma still stood at the net, the beta tiredly rubbing his temples and very much indeed looking like he was in desperate need of several Advil’s and a shot of whiskey (but Kenma better fucking not be drinking at his age, if Kuroo ever found out the beta so much as glanced at a liquor bottle, then he’d take away his PSP for a _month_ ). Or maybe even a swing to the back of his head with a metal baseball bat to just go ahead and put him out of his misery.

Kuroo blinked at the whole ‘love on the court’ part, because what the hell was Iwaizumi talking about? In response, Kuroo squared his shoulders as he said defensively, “Bokuto and I aren’t together.” Therefore there was no ‘love’ going on anywhere, especially on the volleyball court... well, alright, it was love, but it was one-sided love --a half a serving of love, or fifty percent off love, so did that still count? Buy one love and _not_ get another free.

It was unfortunate that Iwaizumi didn’t appear convinced as he leveled Kuroo with an unimpressed look. Resting one hand on his hip, Iwaizumi vaguely gestured at Kuroo’s chest with the other as he deadpanned, “You’re wearing Bokuto’s shirt.”

His eyes following Iwaizumi’s rather rude pointing, Kuroo looked down and his eyebrows rose in surprise when he noticed the oh so familiar gunmetal fabric with the (upside-down, according to his perspective) name of their university and Bokuto’s number proudly displayed across his chest like a fucking brand. “ _Shit_ ,” he softly muttered, with feeling, because he had actually forgotten.

Earlier that morning he had accidentally grabbed the shirt, of which he had yet to return because he was a lazy piece of shit, from the untidy pile of clothes tossed haphazardly into his closet floor and pulled it over his head. Kuroo hadn’t noticed the mix up until he had been already stepping out of his room and his nose had been hit with the alpha’s scent, causing him to trip to an ungraceful halt and experience a bout of light-headedness, but he had been too tired to walk the five steps all the way back into his room and swap shirts.

When he had entered the kitchen where Bokuto was pouring a glass of orange juice, the alpha’s automatic morning greetings had died on his tongue when he obviously noticed the ‘stolen’ shirt. Bokuto had stared yet hadn’t uttered a single word, and before Kuroo could interject, the idiot’s glass had overflowed and Bokuto had snapped his head back down onto the island counter with a quiet ‘ _fuck_ ’. As he rushed to grab some paper towels to clean up the escaped juice, Bokuto still hadn’t mentioned Kuroo’s criminal thievery, and instead the shorter guy whined about how sticky the counter was going to be now. Kuroo had narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

After a few moments, Kuroo had taken Bokuto’s silence on the matter as an indication that his roommate thought _Kuroo_ didn’t know about the mix-up, and obviously Bokuto was waiting for him to notice and consequently make a fool out of himself in surprise. Well jokes on Bokuto, because Kuroo had, in fact, noticed and he just wouldn’t acknowledge the shirt and give the alpha that satisfaction, so take that (and, no, Kuroo totally wasn’t using this thinking as an excuse to continue wearing his bro’s shirt). So, throughout the entirety of the day he continued to wear the damn shirt as neither of them addressed the situation, and Kenma, not wanting to expend the energy it took to even ask, hadn’t spoken a word about it either.

Kuroo plucked at the hem of Bokuto’s shirt and at his resulting silence, Iwaizumi exhaled heavily through his nose before he astutely observed, “You’re going into your next heat cycle, aren’t you?” The omega ace had lowered his voice in some semblance of privacy, and his gaze briefly side-eyed the squabbling alphas to confirm they hadn’t overhead such a sensitive topic like the nosy, hearing-sensitive eavesdroppers that they were. Iwaizumi appeared satisfied when both Bokuto and Oikawa, oblivious to their conversation, continued to childishly fight over the one volleyball as Kenma attempted, and failed, to grab their attention by informing them that there were fifteen other balls thrown across the court.

Kuroo twitched at the spot-on observation, and he fought the urge to throw his hands up into the air and question-shout how the _fuck_ Iwaizumi even knew he was going into damn heat within the new week. First, the dude mercilessly called Kuroo out on his own annoying crush, and now he was magically aware of his oncoming heat cycle? Had Kenma taped a piece of paper that read ‘DUMBASS OMEGA APPROACHING HEAT’ onto the back of his shirt, or did the two of them, as male omegas, automatically share this invisible, telepathic connection that allowed Iwaizumi access to personal information? Or, and this was the most likely answer, was Kuroo just acting that damn transparent?

“How’d you know?” Kuroo whispered as he ducked his head close enough to the shorter guy to count his freaking eyelashes if he desired to. He needed to know what gave him away, so he could immediately obliterate that telling behavior, as he was not too keen on flaunting his pheromones to the entire campus, thank you very much.

“I may be on my suppressants, but earlier while you were practicing spikes with that pudding-hair guy, Shittykawa told me that your scent had gotten stronger,” Iwaizumi explained gently, still whispering in a hushed voice, before he non so subtly tilted his head towards the court where Bokuto was audibly challenging Oikawa to an arm wrestle competition for possession of the volleyball. “And did you not even notice Bokuto constantly scent marking you?” And it sounded like a genuine question, like Iwaizumi wasn’t mocking him in the slightest and seemed honestly interested in Kuroo’s answer.

At those words, Kuroo felt his nose scrunch in confusion and he murmured, “Oh? When did Bo scent mark me?” Bokuto? Scent marking him? He crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed, because he already knew the answer to his own question --Bokuto hadn’t. Yeah right, nice try, Iwaizumi, they weren’t that obvious. Getting scent marked seemed like something Kuroo would have noticed, and he couldn’t recall Bokuto nuzzling against him any time this afternoon, or touching the scent glands situated at the nape of his neck, or even fucking wrapping his arms around him in a good old-fashioned hug, or stripping off his clothes and rubbing his naked body against Kuroo’s--

“It happened just five minutes ago when you announced you were taking a water break,” Iwaizumi interrupted Kuroo’s not-safe-for-work train of thought with a tiny frown pinching his lips downwards. A little wrinkle appeared between his furrowed brows as Kuroo remained just as confused as he was a few seconds prior. Thankfully, Iwaizumi continued with a pointed look, “Was it really necessary for the guy to pat your shoulder and let his hand drag down your back when you moved away?”

Oh, _that_... just that? Kuroo huffed in surprise at the letdown of an answer. Seriously? Relaxing his tensed shoulders, Kuroo couldn’t believe he was actually experiencing a little disappointment at the rather unclimactic explanation. That’s what Iwaizumi was so focused on and what supposedly ‘gave them away’? Kuroo made some unconcerned ‘pshhaw’ noise and uncrossed his arms to wave a hand dismissively at the fellow omega.

He gently shook his head before breezily countering, “Bokuto wasn’t scent marking me, that’s completely normal for us. Has been normal, always will be normal.” Bokuto had always indulged heavily in skinship, a special personality trait that Kuroo both revered and loathed with all the cells in his body, and, trust him, Kuroo out of anyone in this gymnasium wished that it had actually been a show of scent marketing.

On one hand, Kuroo thrived under Bokuto’s natural administrations of bro-ship because he was greedy and was secretly overfilled with a weird, bubbly happiness whenever Bokuto affectionately ruffled his bed head hair or jumped on his back like a rowdy idiot or leaned into his side during movie nights when their malfunctioning heater decided to take a break from working. Then, on the other hand, the alpha’s platonic affections had become the bane of his existence when they had been forced to share a futon one night and Kuroo had woken up only to realize a sleeping Bokuto had securely wrapped his freakishly strong, iron grip around his waist and torso and refused to release him. It had been a trying time, for sure, as Kuroo hid his burning face in his trembling hands because Bokuto’s morning wood was pressing against the small of his back and one side of Kuroo wanted to press back and see if he could get a little something-something started, but the other side of him was very much aware of how that could be considered ‘taking advantage’ and ‘not a very bro thing to do’. Kuroo had never felt so conflicted in his goddamn life, but he ultimately decided he wasn’t a somnophiliac when he had fallen asleep the night before and he wouldn’t be starting that lifestyle today. Also, he had desperately needed to take a piss, so any potetential sexy times was a no go.

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to look surprised, the guy’s eyebrows lifting, as his expression screamed just how not-normal he truly thought Kuroo’s words were. Keeping his doubts to himself, the ace then sighed, and he dropped the topic as if he realized that persuading Kuroo of any differing opinion was useless, a smart man. Instead, Iwaizumi eyed him seriously and asked, “Then how are you feeling with your heat coming up?” The omega ace leaned back to better study Kuroo as if he was searching for the physical burdens that heats forced onto the body, and, wow, the dude sounded truly worried _for_ him.

Why had he never realized just exactly how much of a good guy Iwaizumi was? For no good reason at all, Kuroo held out his arms and curiously studied his own limbs like he’d never glanced upon them before as he mimicked Iwaizumi and idly searched for whatever the ace saw. Was it because he’d never really talked extensively with Iwaizumi before? Kuroo was more familiarized and friendly with Oikawa after meeting the legendary setter at the specially designed captains’ training camp, and he’d actually only met Iwaizumi a handle of times whenever Oikawa dragged Seijoh’s ace along during later meetups. Had this dude always been such a respectable guy? What was with this flourishing omega camaraderie? Maybe Kuroo had been onto something with that whole telepathic connection theory.

And, honestly, Kuroo didn’t think he would mind if his absurd omega telepathy theory turned out to be true, as talking to another male omega felt kind of refreshing --having someone understand him on a genetic and instinctual level. It’s been months since he had hung out with someone of his first and secondary gender, the last person being Lev, who didn’t count because of their captain-player type relationship. Unlike that twenty-seven foot tall pair of legs, Iwaizumi was his age, and if Kuroo came to like him any more than he already did, then he’d totally be down to invite the guy over for a sleepover where they could fail the omega Bechdel test and gush on about their alpha boys the entire night. However, something told him Iwaizumi wouldn’t be so interested in that himself unless it was to complain about Oikawa, so they could simply hang out and play video games, that too. Kuroo was just desperate to whine about his repressed love life because after a solid ten minutes, Kenma’s eyes would glaze over and he would stop listening.

Iwaizumi was a pretty good guy, so Kuroo decided to tell him the truth. Thinking, Kuroo hummed lightly in the back of his throat, his eyes flicking upwards towards the domed ceiling as he carefully worded his response, “Huh, the heat hasn’t affected me physically just yet, so I’m fine. But...” Apparently, he hadn’t picked out his words well enough, because his voice trailed off as he tilted his head from side to side in thought. He was struggling because he hadn’t yet been forced to put this feeling in words, he hadn’t even talked to Kenma about this, simply because he hadn’t wanted to bother his friend with ‘icky’ omega heat details. Kuroo opened his mouth and tried again, “But... mentally my body seems to... I don’t know, it’s become needy for a certain scent?” That scent being Bokuto’s, but Kuroo felt like the clarification wasn’t necessary.

It was like a weird itch he couldn’t scratch, he just wanted. This whole troublesome ‘needing Bokuto’s scent’ feeling was probably the cause of this morning’s great shirt scandal. He was theorizing that his body must have instinctually sought out Bokuto’s shirt, which was obviously saturated with the alpha’s scent, and even now Kuroo was thinking up excuses to continue wearing the alpha’s clothing. It was just comfortable, alright? The fabric was soft from excessive wear and washing while the scent of adventure in the woods swathed around him in a comfy cocoon so, yeah, he hadn’t swapped out shirts yet.

Iwaizumi nodded his head as a look of understanding passed between them before Kuroo sighed heavily and redirected his gaze back again to the court. He’d totally been right, this heat wasn’t going to fun at all, especially if this inherent need to for Bokuto’s scent only grew more demanding, but, ah, when had heats ever been a leisurely stroll through the metaphorical park?

As comfortable silence settled in between the two, Kuroo idly watched Oikawa stuff the token volleyball underneath his armpit so the two alphas could play an intense battle of rock-paper-scissors, and he couldn’t figure out whether the two were endearing or annoying. After another second’s thought, Kuroo, his bias clear as day, decided that Bokuto was being pleasantly endearing while Oikawa was being an irritating little shit who needed to be taught a lesson. Annoyingly enough, it appeared Iwaizumi was thinking the exact opposite, if his softer gaze directed at the setter said anything, and Kuroo was rightfully insulted on Bokuto’s behalf. Iwaizumi was acting just like Kenma, how the hell were there despicable people in this world who didn’t think Bokuto was singularly the best human on this earth? How dare he choose his mate over this random loud guy he’d only met a handful of times.

Taking this as an opportunity to fulfill the magazine’s third step, Kuroo cleared his throat before loudly cheering, “Kick his ass, Bo!” Pin him to the ground, rub his face in the mud, chew on his leg or whatever the hell alphas did to each other in fights of dominance. Iwaizumi snorted in amusement when Kuroo, not one to half-ass himself, clapped his hands and whistled, the noise reverberating through the lovely acoustics of the gym. His praise was simple, yet effective, as Bokuto shouted back an invigorating ‘ _hell yeah, I will_!’.

However, Bokuto’s determination and impassioned shouting was all for naught when he played rock as Oikawa played paper, and Bokuto sank to his knees and fisted his hands in his hair with a mournful cry of defeat that caused everyone to flinch at the volume. Kuroo rubbed his ear, tutting in disappointment as he did (because dammit, Bokuto, he had believed in him), while Oikawa threw back his head and laughed arrogantly at the prostrated spiker who punched the court with his fist. Every strike of Bokuto’s hand onto the wooden flooring, which had to hurt, caused a quiet Kenma to look more and more exasperated --long time no see, Generally Tired Of Life™ #7 expression-- and Oikawa’s superiority to flourish.

Oikawa, a wicked sparkle in his brown eyes, lightly tossed the volleyball and caught it again, mocking Bokuto, before turning his sharp gaze onto the two omegas by the sidelines. “No need to praise me, Iwa-chan,” the alpha breezed as his lips curved upwards into a confident smirk. The guy, balancing the ball in the palm of his hand, opened up his arms like he was about to embrace a lover, while he called out, “I can already feel my darling’s passionate wishes of love from here!”

Moving faster than what should be humanly possible, Iwaizumi’s entire body ducked and he snatched a filled, metal water bottle from the bench and --h _oly shit_.

Kuroo, with a strangled noise of surprise, leaped forwards and grabbed Iwaizumi’s pitching arm and the dude’s broad shoulder to jerk him to a halt as he cried out that it wasn’t worth it. The shorter omega struggled against his hold, his arm shaking with tension and a leg kicking out in frustration, as Kuroo strained to hold him back because _what the fuck,_ Iwaizumi wasn’t aiming to kill the guy, was he?

Thank god, instead of teasing the omega further, Oikawa’s smirk melted off his face as he realized the immediate danger he had stupidly placed himself in, and the setter dropped the volleyball, bent down, and heaved a despairing Bokuto up into a standing position so he could cower behind the still depressed, yet very confused, alpha.

A nervous bead of sweat rolling down his jaw, Kuroo sighed in relief when Iwaizumi finally relaxed in his hold and he dropped the potential murder weapon onto the floor with a resounding clang of metal hitting the hardwood. He was about to release him, after he had deemed it safe for Oikawa’s well-being to do so, when Kuroo hesitated at the sight of the ace’s neck. From this position, leaning above a bent over and wrathful Iwaizumi, he had a perfect view of the mating mark situated smack dab in the middle of the guy’s neck underneath his hairline, the scars from Oikawa’s teeth raised from his skin. Kuroo blinked. A mating bite, huh? Kuroo knew, logically, that Iwaizumi would have one --he was the omega half of a pair, for god’s sake-- but it was a little different seeing it in person. And, wow, did it raise some questions.

Curiosity killing the cat but satisfaction bringing it back, Kuroo hissed without thinking twice about it, “How did you hook him?” He pretended not to acknowledge the twinge of desperation in his whispered voice as he stared, unblinkingly, at the fellow omega’s permanent bite mark. While he was at it, he also decided to ignore the nettling twig of jealousy that arose because Kuroo was a bad person who wanted things he wouldn’t be able to achieve and couldn’t seem to just be happy for his friends.

But, _god_ , did he want to know, because Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been in a similar situation, right? They had been friends, childhood friends as Kuroo had heard, yet somehow they had been able to step past that wretched line of friendship into something more, something precious. So, how? When? Who was the first to confess? How did they confess? Did the other return the feelings immediately? Whoever confessed first, were they ever worried that they were singledhandedly ruining their friendship?

While these personal questions ran rampant through his mind, Iwaizumi jerked out of his hold, Kuroo dropping his hands without a fight, and straightened his back to eye him cautiously. The ace swiped the towel he had thrown over his shoulder as he clarified, “Tooru and I?” At Kuroo’s confirming head bob, Iwaizumi’s gaze lowered and bore into the gym’s floor while he dragged the towel down his sweaty face again, his expression turning stormy.

Holding the personalized towel over his mouth, Iwaizumi’s eyes flashed with fiery infuriation, much to Kuroo’s surprise, as he harshly glared into the court with shoulders stiffened defensively. If Iwaizumi hadn’t been taking his suppressants, Kuroo was positive he would have been able to smell the smoky, burnt emotion of fury wafting of him, and he was eternally grateful that neither Bokuto or Oikawa were paying attention to their conversation (Bokuto had coerced the other alpha into a best of three rock-paper-scissors game).

Iwaizumi looked like he was experiencing traumatic World War II flashbacks. Kuroo winced when he whispered, “That bad?” Alright, so according to Iwaizumi’s murderous gaze, Kuroo assumed that perhaps he shouldn’t listen to any future relationship advice of theirs, good to know.

Finally lifting his head, Iwaizumi stared up at him with dark, smoldering eyes, and Kuroo totally didn’t shiver in fear. Iwaizumi’s hands dropped down to return to his sides, towel clenched tightly in his grasp, before the ace firmly warned in a low baritone, “When Bokuto delivers the mating mark--” Kuroo wanted to interject with something along the lines that him and Bokuto were still not together, but he was too scared “--if, afterwards, he starts tearfully apologizing and regrets it, you punch him in the goddamn dick for me.”

… Oikawa, what the _hell_.      

[][][]

With the sun sluggishly falling behind the horizon and the summer cicadas chirping their ceaseless song, it was a sleepy evening after a sweltering and tiring day playing volleyball. In an apartment complex situated on the university campus, sat two figures relaxing on a cramped twin sized mattress tucked against the corner in a room belonging to the university’s volleyball player. It was not the tidiest of rooms, but at least there were no towering piles of junk ready topple over with the slightest breeze. However, clothes were haphazardly strewn about and there was an empty yogurt cup poking out from underneath the beg, practically begging for ants.

Additionally, decorating the walls were posters of famous volleyball players leaping up at the net to deliver a spike, their dynamic position and the gleaming sweat pouring down their face forever captured in the loving lens of a camera, and a familiar black, white, and yellow high school volleyball uniform proudly hung on the wall. Earlier in the evening, the desk chair had been dragged in front of the bed and a laptop had been placed on the seat cushion with its power cord spanning across the room into an electrical socket to create a dangerous tripping hazard.

Bokuto and Kuroo lazily relaxed on the bed as they watched the tv show play on the computer’s screen, too tired after an eventful evening to do anything that required actual brain cells, so they were marathoning season 2 of _The Real Omegawives of Shizuoka_. They had played volleyball until four o’clock in the afternoon, and then all five of them had collectively decided to go out to eat in order to actually chat and catch up instead of nearly taking each other’s heads off with powerful spikes. They had certainly been a rowdy bunch, what with Bokuto constantly pushing himself into people’s personal space and speaking at a volume two settings too loud while Oikawa constantly raved about how all their new team members already respected Iwaizumi to anyone who would mistakenly make brief eye contact with him.

Throughout the entirety of the night, Kuroo and Iwaizumi would shoot each other looks of immense understanding whenever the alphas did anything they deemed as ‘idiotic’ (the meaning of which ranging from Oikawa boasting about how he could eat a chicken leg without getting any of the meat under his nails to Bokuto _literally hooting_ in excitement when Kuroo said they could order dessert, the bed-head ridden omega consequently shooting an exasperated look at Iwaizumi that could be correctly interpreted as ‘are you seeing this cute shit right now? Ridiculous’). Kenma had been the only one to grow suspicious at their sudden telepathic stares directed at one another, and the beta gave them strange looks before the poor guy’s unwarranted suspicion was interrupted by nearly being trampled over by said rowdy alphas. Several times Kuroo had to physically step in front of Kenma to protect the smaller guy from being bowled over.

Kuroo was consequently bowled over in his place, as the martyring friend he was. In return for his selfless self-sacrifice, Kenma had shown his appreciation when he had offered to help cover the food bill (thank god, too, because Kuroo had been sitting there sweating nervously as he opened his wallet and saw the limited amount of bills. Earlier he had proudly exclaimed that the bill would be on him in order to convince his visiting friends that he had his life together after becoming an official adult, but he hadn’t expected the sheer appetite of his guests --which made sense because they had just spent the past few hours sweating their asses off and growing an appetite, but, damn, Iwaizumi, was it really necessary to scarf down an entire five servings of pork?).

Afterwards, they had walked the alpha-omega pair to the train station, the five of them being that obnoxiously large party that took up the entire sidewalk and then some, so the two could ride the train back to their hotel where the rest of their teammates were. While Kenma had politely waved, Bokuto and Kuroo had made faces at the pair when they boarded, and Oikawa had whipped out his phone and snapped a pic as the train departed. Like the gentlemen they were, they then waited for Kenma’s train, and Kuroo idly talked to his childhood friend while Bokuto cried out that Oikawa had uploaded the unattractive picture to his Snapchat.

“I can’t believe Saito forgot their anniversary, Ito’s been planning it for the past three episodes,” Bokuto mumbled tiredly from his sitting position on the bed, his back leaning against the wall. Saito had done fucked up, and the two watched Ito throw the lamp as he cried that he would have become mates with that flirty bartender if he had known in advance that Saito wasn’t willing to treat him right, ouch.

Kuroo hummed lightly in agreement as he sat perpendicular to the alpha, leaning against the bed’s headboard with his legs perched up on Bokuto’s lap while the guy massaged his burning calves that had cramped up from the day’s abuse. His fingers dug into his strained leg muscles and euphorically rubbed with just the most divine amount of pressure. When Kuroo had whined about the pain in his legs when they jumped onto his springy bed, Bokuto had offered to massage his calves like a true bro.

“Your dexterous fingers are a gift from god,” Kuroo applauded his work reverently as he watched Saito cry for forgiveness and desperately offer to buy his mate a new Lexus. Even with the sun dripping below the plains and his ideas running on nothing but fumes, Kuroo continued his praises because he was no quitter. “I’ve never received such a wonderful massage, have you considered becoming a masseur on the side?”

However, instead of agreeing and then announcing that he’d declare his minor in massage therapy, Bokuto nodded in a rather lackluster reply, and Kuroo eyed him worriedly. He’d been like this for a little while, ever since they sat down. Bokuto was watching the reality tv show, but at the same time he _wasn’t_ , his eyes unfocused like he was thinking of something else. For the past few compliments Bokuto would merely bob his head, and Kuroo had thought it was because the guy had tired himself out during the hectic day, but now there was this flatness in his usually vibrant eyes that scared the hell out of Kuroo.

Gulping, Kuroo glanced back and forth between the laptop and Bokuto’s strangely contemplative face as he tried deciphering what the alpha could be thinking about. Was he scrutinizing the truthfulness of Kuroo’s praises? His compliments weren’t sounding sardonic, right? Alright, perhaps some of them were a tiny bit stretched because he could only applaud Bokuto’s massaging techniques so much without making him sound like he was repeating himself, but never once had his comments been mocking. Bokuto knew Kuroo wasn’t making fun of him, right?

Shifting against the headboard, Kuroo asked softly, “Hey, Bo, you okay?” If it truly bothered him, then he’d immediately stop with all the compliments without hesitating. His purpose was to make the ace laugh and feel good, not make him feel shitty.

Bokuto’s chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh as he muttered a very unconvincing, “Yeah, I’m fine.” He left it at that, and, okay, something was definitely wrong, Bokuto wasn’t even making eye contact any more as he glanced to the side and unseeingly stared down at his grey bedsheets like he was searching for the answer to all his problems in the meager thread count. His hands gradually ceased with the massage to instead rest lightly on Kuroo’s shins, and Kuroo frowned.

He lifted his legs out of the alpha’s lap, Bokuto glancing up in mild surprise at the sudden movement, and Kuroo protectively drew his knees to his chest. Wrapping his arms around his knees and shooting Bokuto a look that told the ace that he wasn’t believing his bullshit, Kuroo persevered with a determined, “Something’s obviously up, so just know you can share if you want to. I’m all ears.” No matter what the dude said, Kuroo wouldn’t judge.

Hell, Bokuto could admit to swallowing a pocketful of change because he thought for a hot second that he was a slot machine in his previous life, and Kuroo still wouldn’t judge as he rushed his friend to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. If it was something really stupid like that scenario, then Kuroo would even tell a secret of his own to make Bokuto feel better. He had several stories lined up already; one time in middle school Kuroo had wondered how fast he could eat a bag of Doritos, and he ended up cutting open his gums pretty bad on a sharp chip, so he had no room to judge (his record was twenty seconds, by the way).

Bokuto could have killed a guy and Kuroo would help bury the body, no questions asked, though he doubted Bokuto even held a single malicious bone in his body to do such a morally wrong thing. If anything, Kuroo was betting his money on that pretty-faced Akaashi inevitably snapping and killing someone who angered him, and Bokuto was the one who was burying the body for him, no questions asked on Bokuto’s side either.

Seemingly struggling for words, Bokuto sat there awkwardly holding his hands in the air before finally placing them down on his lap with another deep sigh, and Kuroo waited patiently. The alpha gnawed on his lower lip with enough pressure that Kuroo worried he was going to cut his lip open, and he managed a feeble, “I don’t… I…” the more he struggled to express his thoughts, the more depressed Bokuto became, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. “I just keep thinking…”

With a violent noise of frustration, Bokuto scowled as he revealed with a tinge of self-depreciation, “I know I’m being stupid, but I keep comparing myself to Oikawa and Iwaizumi!” He clenched his hands in his lap until his knuckles turned ghastly pale as he bit out, his voice a mixture of respect and bitter anger, “They’re just _so fucking good_ , man, way better than me. Did you even see them moving so fluidly on the court?”

Kuroo silently listened with rapt attention as Bokuto ranted about the alpha-omega pair, and he leaned the side of his head against his knees. It would take a fool to _not_ realize just how good the two were, and that included Iwaizumi himself, apparently. Kuroo only knew this surprising information because Oikawa had once asked him and Bokuto for advice during a get together on raising the omega’s morale. Who knew that a few months from then, Bokuto would come to understand Iwaizumi’s troubles a little bit more intimately.

But while both Oikawa and Iwaizumi were extraordinary players, Kuroo would hesitate in admitting that they were better. As he had learned through his captain perspective, each of his teammates had their own unique strength that put certain skills above others, and even Bokuto’s style as an ace felt completely different to Iwaizumi’s style. They, as players, were simply incomparable in Kuroo’s eyes.

“It just makes me wonder what I’m bringing to my team,” Bokuto continued, mumbling, as he unclenched his hands and picked dismally at a loose thread hanging off his basketball shorts. It sounded like he had been thinking about this for a long time, probably since they started playing in the gym and he had just been phenomenal at hiding it. Kuroo hadn’t even known until the ace had dug himself into quite the mental trench.

“Shit,” he continued gently, “sorry, I hate being a downer…” The alpha’s eyes were downcast as he hung his head, and so this was Bokuto in ‘dejected mode’. Everyone who found themselves on the same court as the ace would eventually find out about his moods, but Kuroo had only heard the actual term when Bokuto was joking about it once, good-naturedly making fun of himself, and had revealed that’s what his teammates called his depressive swings.

‘Dejected mode’. Kuroo hated that term with a burning passion, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. Hated it because others could potentially use the joking name as a blanket term and invalidated Bokuto’s serious emotional doubts; his team could look at him right now and say ‘ _oh, don’t mind him, he’s gone into that dejected mode of his, Akaashi will figure out what to do_ ’, and it could downplay Bokuto’s emotions and, _fuck_ , just thinking about it was riling Kuroo up. Everyone had a right to get sad, and had the right to have their sadness be treated seriously, even the ever boisterous Bokuto.

The side of his face still pressed against his knees and wordlessly watching Bokuto hang his head lower in despondency, Kuroo decided to speak up. “Well, I think you’re fucking great,” His voice was unyielding, and he’d deck the ever-loving shit out of anyone who dared to take one brief glance at Bokuto and disagree. If this continued, he’d beat some sense into Bokuto himself, too, his punches didn’t discriminate. “I know my opinion might not mean anything, but I think you’re the best volleyball player on this earth.”

Best in physical ability? Hell no, there would always be someone who could jump higher or spike harder or run faster, and if Oikawa was that person, then so be it. The alpha setter had worked his ass off to be where he was now and he deserved it, but was Oikawa the best player overall? Abso-fucking-lutely not, that title belonged solely to a guy of the name Bokuto Koutarou, hands down. Kuroo was also ready to fight anyone on this matter as well.

Kuroo could brag about Bokuto for hours on end, Kenma would know as the poor beta had lain witness to his ‘Bokuto is Great’ rants on several occasions. Bokuto had both the power and the personality to be the best damn player to ever walk onto the volleyball courts, as he had the fortitude and determination to drive himself to overcome the very things that stood in his path. While he was dramatic, everyone appreciated the fire he carried, and no one could _not_ feel motivated after listening to him rant about beating the other team to smithereens.

He was a powerful influencer, because people just looked at Bokuto and wanted to try just as hard as the ace did. Kuroo could attest to that, for in times of hardship (whether that was applying to the top scholarly university where Bokuto had snagged a scholarship, or if it was wondering if he should stay up an extra two hours and continue to study for a midterm), Kuroo would pause and wonder how Bokuto would handle the situation with his determination, endless positivity, and his awe-inspiring sportsmanship.

Kuroo wasn’t exactly expecting Bokuto, after hearing his words of encouragement, to leap up with joy and shout ‘hey, hey, hey’s from the top of his lungs, but he also hadn’t been expecting a doubtful look from the scrunched-up alpha. No, Kuroo couldn’t have any of that, he preferred his Bokuto’s grinning like a loon and excluding literal sunshine out of his ass. “I don’t think either Oikawa or Iwaizumi are better than you,” he continued, lifting his head from his drawn-up knees. “But even if they are, who gives a shit?” Kuroo gave zero shits, someone couldn’t even pay him to give a shit (debatable, how many zero’s were they talking), and so should Bokuto.

He was on a roll now, he was getting so pumped about this topic that Bokuto better recognize that he was the best thing in Kuroo’s world or else the omega would retaliate by squeezing hair dye in Bokuto’s shampoo or ‘accidentally’ spilling Coke onto his newest pair of volleyball shoes. Kuroo frowned harsher as he reasoned, “If they are, then you’ll just practice that much harder to _become_ the best. Our university’s volleyball team is so lucky to have you, you’re probably the best thing to ever happen to them.” And, his voice dropping, Kuroo said with dead seriousness, “I would know, because you are to me.”

If this was a sappy romance movie, then this would be the part of the story where Kuroo would go off on a lengthy rant, declaring exactly what he loved about the alpha before then throwing himself into Bokuto’s awaiting arms. Their hypothetical story would be an emotionally gut-wrenching tale too with fabulous ticket sales, one rated (here’s to hoping) R for later steamy sex scenes, and one that would get a stunning review on both Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic, guaranteed. But, unfortunately, this wasn’t a fictional story, he didn’t have his flawless Tomatometer score, and he was too much of a coward to blabber on about what he loved about Bokuto. Instead, he sat there on the bed and continued to glare his unspoken feelings into Bokuto’s face like a proper emotionally suppressed man.

The alpha seemed a little shaken by the casual admission, and he embarrassedly rubbed at his neck while the tiniest of red dusted his cheeks, a fact that made Kuroo swallow roughly and his heart stutter because shit, man, the stupid owl was _cute_. What the hell was happening, a few days ago the guy was leaking sex appeal and now he was a blushing virgin? Where was the continuity? But, more importantly, where was Kuroo’s phone when he needed it? He needed to take a picture _right now_ and set it as his phone background like the sappy weirdo he was.

“Ah,” Bokuto murmured, suddenly timid, as he scratched his collarbone, sounding a little awkward yet still somewhat grateful at the same time, “thanks, man, that’s really nice of you to say, but...” he trailed off, lost in his thoughts once again.

Oh, no, not on Kuroo’s watch that he didn’t own. Resolute, Kuroo scooted to the side of the bed, Bokuto uttering a shocked ‘bro’ as he did, and leaped off the bed, nearly wiping himself out in the process by tripping over the computer cord. Bokuto watched him in surprise when Kuroo barely caught himself from faceplanting, _thank fuck_. Pretending that the past few seconds didn’t just happen, Kuroo coolly took to a standing position in front of the bed before bracing his feet against the carpeted floor as he stared down at his friend with a determined glint in his eyes. Drastic times called for drastic measures.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs to full capacity while he sent a quick mental apology to all their neighbors, and then subsequently yelled his lungs out, “And you were ridiculously cool on the court today, too!” Bokuto jerked at the unexpected volume --a taste of his own medicine, ey-- while Kuroo lowered his body and pulled his arms back. “You were all like--” the flaring ache in his calves be damned, he sprung into the air and lifted his hand, nearly rapping his knuckles against the ceiling “--pshsaa!” The superfluous noise left his mouth as he spiked at the air before gravity decided that was enough of his antics, and he landed with a thump that shook the whole bedroom floor.

Oh, man, that one would definitely earn them some more complaints to add to their ever-growing list. But too dedicated to his role to back out now, Kuroo walked backwards until he achieved the perfect distance for his next stunt, shouting sternly all the while, “And then when Oikawa served, you were all like baaam!” And then, arms outstretched to receive a nonexistent ball, he quite literally threw himself onto the ground in his best dive impression he could manage in the given limited space --and _holy fuck_ was that a _bad idea_.

Kuroo had the wind knocked out of his chest in the form of a strangled wheeze, as his stomach and chest collided with the bedroom floor and slid forward a measly five inches. However, the dull ache of his now bruised ribcage was nothing compared to the vengeful, fiery burn that sprouted throughout his legs as his knees and thighs were rubbed raw across the carpet. The intense pain was immediate, and Kuroo whined pitifully as he felt at least three layers of skin get stripped up by the offending carpet.

When the momentum of his poorly orchestrated dive was defeated by friction, Kuroo laid there with his body splayed out and his arms still outstretched to receive a ball that would never come. He pathetically dropped his forehead against the floor with a low thunk, laying there in misery while his knees were engulfed in the licking flames of carpet burn. He refused to stand up and face reality, instead choosing to remain spread out across the dirty floor like the piece of garbage he was as his knees probably bled all over Bokuto’s carpet. Regret. Desolation. Humiliation. Self-hatred. All these emotions flooded him. His eyes instinctually grew wet as it felt like some sadistic freak had placed smoldering coals over his legs, what the hell had Kuroo been thinking.

There was a tense moment of silence where Kuroo sulkily stewed in his shame before it was suddenly broken by Bokuto howling with laughter. Tears filling his eyes and one even spilling down his cheek, Kuroo’s head snapped up at the sound that heartlessly mocked both his mental and physical pain. The laughing ace was holding a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, but his yellow eyes crinkled in mirth, the expression so different from the one he had been wearing just a minute ago.

“You’re... ah, you’re so dumb,” Bokuto, breath hitching, managed through his onslaught of chuckles as he shifted on his bed, folding his legs crisscross-applesauce, and a sense of relief washed over Kuroo --and, alright, okay, perhaps the intense burning emitting from his legs was worth it. ‘Perhaps’, though, as nothing official had been decided yet. However, if the alpha continued to grin like that, then Kuroo could be easily persuaded.

Groaning, Kuroo finally decided that it was time to stop wallowing and he unclasped his hands, pulling them to his sides and bending them at the elbows before lifting his pained and aching body onto his hands and knees. He shifted into a sitting position, only to grimace when he spotted his irritated knees. The skin was rubbed raw and he had definitely scraped off some layers of skin, as he had expected, but thankfully he wasn’t bleeding out. Which was a good thing, because he didn’t know how to clean spilled blood off carpets, and, wow, that sounded a lot more ominous than he had intended it too.

Kuroo, his cheeks heating up from minor embarrassment, ignored the pain for a second as he rubbed at the bothersome wetness in his eyes. Hold on, though, he couldn’t allow his own idiocy distract either of them from his true message. Face somber, Kuroo folded his hands in his lap and whispered seriously, “I think you’re really great.” He had to say it twice, so Bokuto could understand the importance behind his words.

At his words, Bokuto’s chuckles gradually died away as he relaxed his broader shoulders, and his amusement was replaced with something akin to fondness. “Alright,” he relented tenderly with a smaller, but softer, smile that professionally plucked at Kuroo’s heartstrings. “I guess if you say I’m so great, then I must be, right?”

Halleluiah, at last he understood. For a while there, Kuroo had been worried that he really would have to result to kicking the guy’s ass until Bokuto admitted his greatness. “You got it,” Kuroo clipped, leaving no room for argument, as he sharply nodded his head. Pleased with his job well done, Kuroo stood up with another grunt of complaint, his hands brushing the dust (and dead skin) off his knees as he rose --and, ouch, tomorrow he was undoubtedly going to hurt all over.

Yeah, but carpet burn could suck it because Kuroo decided it was definitely worth it. Even with his words of encouragement and his mood-lightening show of causing direct injury to himself, he doubted Bokuto was suddenly all good and at one hundred percent confidence again, but at the very least he wasn’t acting like he was drowning in his negative thoughts and sorrows.

“Oh-kay!” Bokuto yelled as he sprung up from the bed and Kuroo, jumping, nearly went into damn cardiac arrest from fright. “Alright, okay!” He repeated with far more exuberance than required at this time of day and rubbed his hands together as Kuroo put a hand to his thumping chest in an effort to calm his heart. The ace wasn’t going to launch himself across the room into a flying fall, right, to make Kuroo feel better about his own show of stupidity? Because the sad thing was that Kuroo could totally see him doing that, and in that situation his thigh-high kneepads, though he wasn’t wearing them at the moment, would become valid, for once.

Bokuto stretched his arms out wide and welcomingly, and Kuroo lifted a brow when the alpha demanded, “Bring it in, it’s time for a hug.” When Kuroo didn’t immediately throw himself into his welcoming arms, his friend wiggled his fingers, expectantly, as he coed, “Aw, come on, Kuroo, we just had a moment, a _bro_ ment, you could say, so now we need to hug it out.”

In order to stop the automatic smile that threatened to take control of his lips, Kuroo frowned as he scoffed crassly, “And get your alpha cooties all over me? No way.” He was just messing around, but now that Kuroo had said it, neither of them had taken either a shower or a bath since they tiredly stumbled past their apartment’s threshold because Kuroo wasn’t the only lazy shit in this household, so they were both probably disgustingly sticky from dried sweat and Bokuto still had a small patch of dried, crusty mustard sauce on his left arm from dinner. The more he thought about it the more Kuroo really _didn’t_ want to get any alpha cooties on him.

Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, Bokuto lurched forwards (Kuroo might have squawked in an awfully high pitch, no one could prove anything) and wrapped the cords of steel known as his forearms around the omega’s shoulders and roughly jerked him forwards without his given consent. Kuroo was pulled into a forceful hug and his immediate string of strongly worded complaints were transformed into gasping wheezes that vaguely sounded like Bokuto’s name and a breathy ‘mercy’ when Bokuto crushed their chests together in the tight hug. Kuroo squirmed as Bokuto had pinned his arms uncomfortably at his side, and by lots of struggling and maybe by a gracious miracle from god was Kuroo able to wiggle his hands in the tight space between their bodies and grab ahold of the fabric resting on top of Bokuto’s chest for purchase (Bokuto laughing at his struggling the entire time, that asshole).

Trapped in a hug, Kuroo had already opened his mouth to objectify to such brutal treatment, but of course he just also had to go and _breathe_. As soon as he inhaled, his nose was filled with the very scent that permeated the stolen shirt he was wearing, but _intensified_ and shit, shit, shit. The hearty scent of dirt and oak washed through his senses, as deep and tantalizing as it had been throughout the entirety of the day, and his head felt like it was being stuffed with fluffy cotton balls.

Bokuto just smelled _so good_ , and his body practically melted into malleable goo as he leaned into the hug. Like… the alpha smelled really, really, really good. Crap, it was happening all over again. The soothing, rich forest scents calmed him, comforted him, as Kuroo instinctually lowered his head to slot his nose against the dip above Bokuto’s collarbone as if some omega switch had been flipped on inside his brain. Unlike Bokuto, who would have to lift on his tippy toes to perch his chin on Kuroo’s shoulder, Kuroo was blessed with the perfect height to merely duck his head, and that stuffed cotton ball feeling grew more distracting as the seconds passed.

Vaguely, Kuroo noted somewhere in the far crevices in the back of his head that Bokuto stiffened under his administrations, but all that mattered was that the alpha didn’t release him. Even Bokuto’s voice felt farther away, which should probably be worrying considering Bokuto’s mouth was centimeters away from Kuroo’s own ear, when he asked, his tone almost drenched with concern, “We talked about me, but, dude, are you okay? You’re more touchy than normal?” Bokuto must have been expecting Kuroo’s usual response to his grand displays of affection.

Typically when they hugged, Kuroo only allowed himself to bask in the physical contact for a few, brief seconds before he pulled away as a precaution, paranoid that the alpha would be able to hear the thundering in his chest and realize it meant more for Kuroo than it did for Bokuto himself. This time, however, Kuroo couldn’t move away even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He blithely nuzzled into Bokuto’s warm skin, his hands squeezing the alpha’s shirt tighter in his clenched grasp as Bokuto made a questioning noise. God, he really didn’t want to move away, and if he thought the shirt was comforting, it was nothing compared to the owner of the scent.

“I’m sorry,” shit, now his voice was even a little croaky as Kuroo closed his eyes and tried to press himself closer. It was like coming home. Yeah, home. Bokuto simply smelled like home. “I’m just… just… eh,” his mind all foggy, it took him a few tries to speak decipherable syllables, “heat, yeah, that’s the thing. Needy… because of the heat. Comforting alpha scent and all that biological stuff.” He didn’t see the advantage to lying about his heat symptoms, so he easily admitted it (though, in his current state, he didn’t think he could scrounge up the brain power to even formulate a decent sounding lie in the first place --because _damn_ that smell), but he might have withheld certain information. Like _whose_ scent he wanted (this guy’s).

By some miracle, Bokuto was able to correctly decipher his incoherent blabbering, and he carefully confirmed, “So an alpha’s scent makes you feel… calmer?” Kuroo nodded in reply, though that was just an excuse to rub his cheek across Bokuto’s neck, soundlessly scenting the alpha as he did. His lips parted and he inhaled through his mouth like, if he could get close enough, he could _taste_ the scent, which, damn, didn’t work, and Kuroo scrunched his brows in frustration. Maybe if he tried getting even closer?

When he didn’t answer, Bokuto’s large hands grasped him by the shoulders and basically pried him off, and Kuroo made a small sound of complaint as he was forcefully removed. Dazed, Kuroo glanced down at the alpha through half-lidded eyes, and whatever Bokuto must have seen on his face caused him to choke ungracefully on his own spit. “ _Kuroo_ ,” the ace whispered his name, shocked, “you got this hot expression on your face, so I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’.” And after a pause he added cautiously, “You feeling alright there, buddy?”

Bokuto gently pushed him away in order to put more distance between them before he let go of his shoulders, and Kuroo, still a little loose, obediently released his death grip on the guy’s shirt and took a step backwards as he tried to collect himself. And when he did, oh boy, when he did Kuroo wanted to die because he was pretty sure his traitorous body had just given away everything. At that thought, the calming effect Bokuto’s scent had on him was immediately thrown aside to make room for good old mortification and panic, and Kuroo’s face paled as Bokuto probably waited for him to explain… _something_.

Fluttering panic controlling his actions now, Kuroo deployed Defense Mechanism #2. Plastering on a sharp smirk, he raised an eyebrow and cockily repeated his friend’s words, “’Hot expression’? So you mean my normal face?” The plan was effective, and it earned him a bark of laughter from Bokuto. Good, yes, the distraction was successful, now all he had to do was clarify the situation in a way that didn’t reveal his massive crush on the guy; he had to explain it before Bokuto assumed and came up with his own explanation.

Kuroo coughed into his hand to clear his throat from where it was still groggy, before feigning nonchalance and blithely waving his hand as he clarified, “As I said--“ well, what he had sort of said but at the same time, not really “--it’s just a symptom of heat, I’ll deal. Apparently, you alphas are like the human equivalent of over-the-counter sedatives.” He was inwardly still screeching in panic, but Kuroo assumed his acting was adequate by the way Bokuto nodded his head in understanding. Perhaps if he acted casually enough about it, Bokuto wouldn’t suspect anything, and, while he was at it, Kuroo decided to also admit, “That’s why I accidentally wore your shirt this morning, because of the heat. Sorry about that.”

With the admittance of his growing scent affixation, he didn’t find the harm in telling the truth about the whole shirt debacle, and it was about time he addressed it anyway. He and Bokuto still hadn’t uttered a word, and after Iwaizumi had mentioned it in the gymnasium, no one else in their party had even made mocking jokes or suggestive innuendos concerning the shirt thievery while they chatted over dinner. Kuroo couldn’t decide whether he was offended or relieved; relieved because it wasn’t brought up only for Kuroo to sit there in awkward silence, trying to conjure up feeble excuses with four pairs of judging eyes watching him, or offended because his friends didn’t love him enough to playfully tease him about it. Were they really his true friends if they didn’t snatch up every opportunity to harass him? Only bad friends didn’t lovingly tease their other friend, and Kuroo would have never allowed such a prime chance to mortify a close friend to slip past his fingers... was Kuroo himself the bad friend?

Oh well, it was probably better to tell the truth anyway, so Bokuto wouldn’t stumble upon any wrong assumptions himself. Like what if he came to the conclusion that Kuroo had stolen his shirt because the omega was aiming to steal his spot on their university team? Or, even worse, what if Bokuto concluded that Kuroo had feelings for him? Which he did, but how embarrassing would that be.

Something akin to comprehension fell over Bokuto’s face as he murmured, “Ah, I get it now. So I’m like a giant Melatonin pill with skin and eyes and everything?” That’s one weird way to put it, but yes. At Kuroo’s, cautious, head nod, Bokuto checked his chin and said, “Makes sense, I was wondering why. So, what are you going to do about it?”

What was he... going to do about it? Kuroo tilted his head a fraction at the innocent question. Was Bokuto trying to imply that he didn’t want him making off with more of his shirts, or was he just concerned for him and how he was dealing with the heat like Iwaizumi had been? And, huh, Bokuto might be on to something because what _was_ he going to do? There was an unpleasant twinge in his chest that warned him he wouldn’t be getting through his heat without Bokuto’s scent, and, man, okay, maybe he should have been thinking about this earlier.

Bokuto might have thrown him for a loop, but thankfully the Intellectually Swift Captain was always smartly prepared, quick on his feet, and immensely bitter that his teammates were all dicks and had refused to call him by that title. Shrugging his shoulders with an ‘eh’ noise, Kuroo basically developed his plan of action as he thought it through out loud, “I don’t wanna deprive you of all your clothing, so I guess I’ll just ask some alpha friends of mine for shirts?” His tone ended on a questioning lift, and Kuroo didn’t like that uncertainty so he cleared his throat for the second time and tried again with a sterner, “Yeah, I think I’ll ask some of the guys, it seemed to work well today.”

Thankfully he knew a good number of alphas of whom didn’t include the one he had an obnoxiously huge crush on. He could ask Kai, or, god forbid, that alpha runt Yaku, or Oikawa... or perhaps not, because for some reason he felt queasy whenever he tried picturing himself wrapped in Oikawa’s scent. Now that he was off his suppressants, during their romp in the gymnasium Kuroo had gotten far more familiarized with the alpha’s strong scent then he had ever wanted to be.

The dude smelled like minerals and freshly cut mint and wet stone and dewberries and Kuroo had to force himself not to lean away whenever the alpha setter approached the net because those scents did not mesh with his own citrus (of which he still wasn’t convinced of smelling like, for he was still eagerly waiting for Bokuto to tell him he’d been fooling around and Kuroo actually smelled like black coffee and shoe polish), especially the damn mint. Their combined scents didn’t smell unpleasant, exactly, but rather the smells just didn’t mix properly, too different. Plus, it made his skin crawl and the hair against the nape of his neck stand just thinking about being surrounded by a mated alpha’s scent --like it would just feel morally wrong. It would make him feel like a home wrecker.

He could ask said runty bastard with a height complex, but he didn’t think any of Yaku’s shirts would actually fit him in the first place considering the guy was so tiny. No, He couldn’t ask old libero, because then he’d feel guilty because of Lev. He didn’t know what was happening between Yaku and the thirty-four foot tall omega, but visible tension connected them and Kuroo wasn’t interested in getting tangled up in those lines. It was the same damn home-wrecker guilt again, damn you moral ethics, why couldn’t he just intervene between two people’s relationships without guilt gnawing at his mind?

“I’ll ask Kai,” Kuroo decided out loud. He was the only option left, and last Kuroo had heard the dude was still single and his university wasn’t too far away, only forty-five minutes by train. He didn’t know how his body would react, but it was worth a shot. Kuroo would take any chance he could stumble upon, because if he didn’t find a solution then Bokuto would have to lock his drawers and closet, or, better yet, just lock himself away for the next week so Kuroo wouldn’t get tempted by just looking at his dumb face.

Bokuto frowned at his answer and put his hand to his chin in thought, though Kuroo had no idea what the alpha could be pondering so hard over; the solution had been simple enough. If Kuroo squinted hard enough, he could almost see the metaphysical cogs whirling in Bokuto’s head, before something akin to a philosophical epiphany descended upon his countenance and his silvery eyebrows shot up. “Stay here!” he blurted as if he was worried Kuroo would just walk straight out of his room without further explanation.

As Kuroo dutifully stayed still and experienced some weird sense of _déjà vu_ , Bokuto bounded over to his closet --his closet? Bokuto wasn’t going to… oh, come on. Heavy suspicion settling somewhere in his stomach, Kuroo prayed he wasn’t right while Bokuto flung open the closet door and thrashed around inside. After scurrying through his hamper, Bokuto returned with a ball of clothing held in his arms, and Kuroo, already knowing where this was going, just thanked his luck that one of them wasn’t that ludicrous wisdom of the ace shirt.

His suspicions now confirmed, Bokuto acted far too proud of himself as he unnecessarily explained, “Dude, you can just wear these!” ‘These’ were four wrinkled t-shirts balled up in his hands, and while Kuroo had lucked out with the lack of the wisdom of the ace shirt, he did recognize the stupid ‘OWL I DO IS WIN’ shirt that his teammates had gifted him as a graduation present.

Instead of being relieved at Bokuto’s kind gesture, Kuroo looked down at the shirts with a facial expression similar to fear while warning lights flashed and sirens rang in his head. No way in hell would it be a good idea to accept the shirts, as they would just torment him and, shit, maybe even accelerate his upcoming heat. Crap, he hadn’t even thought about that, earlier this morning he should have just thrown off the stupid shirt and grabbed something off his closet hangers.

Backpedaling, Kuroo insisted with barely concealed nervousness, “No, seriously, it’s alright, I’ll just ask Kai! I really don’t wanna trouble you, after all I already stole this shirt today.” Kuroo laughed nervously as he plucked the fabric over his right side, and _please_ , Bokuto, just _drop it_.

His prayers went unanswered, probably because Kuroo was a sinful being who did not deserve such divine support, and Bokuto rolled his eyes before shoving the clothes at his chest. Kuroo flailed his arms, forced to take the clothes less he wanted the shirts to fall to the floor, leaving them to awkwardly stare at one another, and he held back a grimace at his turn of bad luck. He had been so fortunate, too, leading up to this moment, what had gone wrong? Dammit, this was karma, wasn’t it, he should have never made fun of the wisdom of the ace shirt.

Bokuto had the gall to snort ungracefully at Kuroo’s pleas and he gave an unconcerned shrug as he breezed, “Why ask Kai when I’m right here?” Bokuto, now was not the time to make logically sound arguments. “And what did I tell you two days ago?” he abruptly asked, and Kuroo blinked quizzingly at him in response. Adopting a sterner expression, Bokuto pinched his brows forwards as he reached out at poked a very confused Kuroo in the sternum while he continued, “You’re never a bother for following your instincts, man. Please, use the shirts, if not for you, then for me, okay? It’ll make me feel better if my scent’s on you, anyways.”

Bokuto looked up at him through serious eyes, and Kuroo tensed up. He badly wanted to ask ‘why?’. Why had Bokuto felt the need to add that last part? Why would the ace feel better if Kuroo was wrapped in his own scent? He could ask, could dig deeper and discover the true meaning behind those words (hell, was the magazine’s wretched advice actually working? And why did that thought make Kuroo nervous when that was the whole point of this joke in the making?), but he was too scared --too scared because of the tiny flame of hope rising in his chest and too scared to blow the flame out if the answer wasn’t what he wanted it.

Right now, Kuroo had the opportunity to push the alpha. It was in his hands now to push for answers, but all he did was stiffen up because he was too spineless to do such a thing. He was a coward, fearful of the consequences and trapped in the mentality of ‘oh, but it could go _so wrong_ ’, and that was the main reason why he hadn’t confessed through the years. Shit, who was he kidding, Bokuto probably just didn’t want an unknown alpha’s scent in the house, yeah, that was it.

Bokuto was pretty serious about this though, huh? God, Kuroo might as well accept, as there was no changing the shorter guy’s mind whenever he had poured his resolve into his opinion. Though wearing Bokuto’s shirt would probably do more harm than good, Kuroo reasoned that wearing Kai’s could result in an even more unwelcome outcome. If his body rejected Kai’s scent like it had to Oikawa’s and refuse to even be placed within a twenty-mile radius of the clothing, then Bokuto could get suspicious why Kuroo could easily wear his shirts but not his old teammate’s. Bokuto would think he liked him, Kuroo inwardly realized with slight horror, and he couldn’t have that.

Relenting, Kuroo shuffled the clothes closer to his chest as he murmured a nearly inaudible, “Thanks.” Because though Kuroo wanted to stab himself in the throat with a fucking pen in an attempt to escape this situation, it was great of Bokuto to even offer to loan out his shirts, and it really showed how incredibly nice of a guy he truly was to go out of his way to help Kuroo and not get grossed out by icky omega problems. God, why did Bokuto have to be so helpful and kind and easy-going? “You’re too nice.”

A satisfied smile lighting up his face, Bokuto didn’t seem to mind Kuroo’s begrudging compliance as he practically sang, “Anything for my best bro!”

He's too cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry, what? what do you mean the Japanese language doesn’t have any ‘owl/I’ll’ pun equivalents??
> 
> …. _fuck_.
> 
>  
> 
> Update: ~~04/22/2018~~. or maybe even a week earlier then that, who knows, i didn’t update early this time, gotta keep y’all on your toes ,can’t be getting too comfortable
> 
>  
> 
> New date is **4/20/2018** due to ao3 user bitchslappedmyself’s persuasive arguments and haha blaze it.


	5. Step 4. Oh no, A Damsel in Distress!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _y’all,,,_ ao3 user bitchslappedmyself is writing an ABO Ushiten fic called [’Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me A Fucked Up Love Story’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377353%20) (ft. a cameo from everyone’s favorite, questionable, magazine), and i’m _living for it_ so please check it out if you want !!

 

Step 4. Oh no, A Damsel in Distress! 

_“If your alpha crush still hasn’t confessed their undying love to you, then it’s time for you to bring out your naturally irresistible omega characteristics! As we all know, alphas are naturally inclined to protect omegas, so get his or her blood singing and instincts flaring by becoming the damsel in distress. This can include asking your alpha crush for help on homework (homework? Blah! Homework stinks, are we right, subscribers?) to having them catch you if you trip on a crack in the sidewalk. This is a chance to have your alpha crush quite literally swoop you off your feet and into the safe embrace of his or her arms, how romantic! I want to be carried in a princess carry!_ Please.”

-Excerpt from ‘How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps’ pg 38-39, _Omega Teen Magazine_

The songbirds were chirping as they flew between tree branches, and children screamed during a particularly intense battle of hopscotch, for it was another heated August day as the sun shone brightly down upon the town’s local park and reflected off the glimmering water of a massive fountain. The artfully designed fountain was the pride of the park, situated in the middle of the public area with several footpaths leading up the ornamental structure, and children laughed with joy as they ran around while parents took residence on the benches to keep careful watch.

Though the sun’s rays were overbearing with their ceaseless heat, there was plenty of shady resting spots due to the clusters of trees and their branches droopily hanging over the brick and mortar walkways that weaved through the park. There was even a refreshing breeze, delivering merciful relief to all of the park goers as they puttered about and chatted with friends and strangers alike. Under the shade of their awnings, concession stands were scattered along the paths offering slightly greasy food for low prices, and therefore consequently had a constant stream of teenagers throwing money their way.

Overall, it was a peaceful outing --the kind that lifted the weight of anxieties off the shoulders and gave the mind time to relax-- as Kuroo walked alongside Bokuto with their ice cream quickly melting in their waffle cones from the onslaught of summer’s heat. As they leisurely walked down the park’s pathways, Kuroo hurriedly licked a trail of melting ice cream that was dripping down his waffle cone, before glancing at his companion. Bokuto, who enjoyed living life dangerously, had chosen a combination of grape and cheese flavored ice cream, and by the way he was eagerly biting into the dessert (yes, _biting_ into the ice cream, which was singularly the most horrific and badass thing Kuroo had ever witnessed) his risky decision had apparently paid off. Bokuto certainly enjoyed living life on the edge, and it made Kuroo’s simple rocky road ice cream feel somewhat inferior.

At one point Kuroo had challenged Bokuto to an ice cream eating contest, but, in retrospect, that had been a horrible idea. They both had lasted all but thirty seconds before a sharp pain had bloomed in their temples and the bridge of their noses, Bokuto cursing at the sudden pain and Kuroo hissing out a sharp breath as regret flooded him, and they had come to a mutual decision to quit. Neither of them had won that day, and they were both left with brain freezes and half of their ice cream gone.

But other than a fading headache, the park excursion had been going along just swell, and the two of them leisurely walked together, close enough for their shoulders to brush occasionally, as they treasured their remaining ice cream and made passing quips about the other park goers. With the refreshing breeze pushing against their backs, Bokuto would excitedly point to a group of scrambling kids and identify the game they were playing ( _’dude, I used to play that all the time with the kids down the street when I was a shrimp! What a bunch of wusses, though. Back then, instead of throwing bean bags at one another, we chucked rocks. Good times… and that was how I landed in the hospital with a fractured--’_ ), while Kuroo himself made sarcastic quips about the fashion choices of the youth these days.

And, oh my, speaking of horrendous fashion choices… Kuroo was currently contemplating sending a handwritten letter to the entire Fukurodani men’s volleyball team. Kuroo could see it now; Akaashi would gather the exhausted team in a circle after a particularly grueling practice and open the lovingly addressed and stamped letter with his teammates peering over his back as they took long swigs of their water bottles to quench their parched throats. When that pretty-faced miscreant opened the envelope and unfolded the paper stuffed inside, the tasteful message written scrupulously in perfect penmanship would read ‘ _fuck you_ ’ because, seriously, what the hell had Bokuto’s old team been thinking with that stupid owl pun shirt as Bokuto’s going-away gift?

Kuroo had heard stories from the Fukurodani players that Bokuto had nearly broken down crying when he had opened the present, and the shirt had henceforth become the guy’s favorite piece of clothing in his entire damn wardrobe --and, side note, the fact that the alpha had willingly offered him the shirt kind of touched him. Bokuto proudly wore it at least once a week, and usually for two or three days in a row because he was a disgusting college student who refused to listen to the gospels of hygiene, and the shirt never failed to make him look like a dorky goober...

Well, that’s not to say that Bokuto wasn’t already the world’s biggest dork, but when the alpha wore the shirt, he actually looked the part as well as acted the part. And though Kuroo always snorted into his morning bowl of oatmeal whenever Bokuto appeared in the kitchen wearing the gifted shirt (he did not recommend treating eating and laughing as simultaneous actions, as a panicked Bokuto once had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him one morning when oatmeal accidentally went down the passageway oatmeal was never supposed to go down), Kuroo had never attached any strong feelings towards the clothing.

That was, until now. He hadn’t minded the shirt much then, but now Kuroo was facing the consequences of Fukurodani’s actions. Today, the phrase ‘OWL I DO IS WIN’ was stamped across Kuroo’s own chest, for all passersby to look and judge as they saw fit, and Kuroo wondered if they had purposely chosen the nerdiest thing they could get their grubby little hands on. Of course Kuroo pulled the shirt off better than Bokuto ever could dream to, but now his respect for Fukurodani’s volleyball team was tarnished, pulled through the metaphorical paper shredder and thrown in the dumpster out back along with several empty cans of wet cat food and his hope for ever receiving a cool Christmas present from Akaashi if they ever grew close enough to exchange gifts. The beta must have had the final say in the approval of the shirt, and, dammit, he was totally the type of guy to buy white ankle socks and mechanical pencils as Christmas presents, wasn’t he?

Though, one could argue that this was all Kuroo’s fault in the first place (and to that reasonable claim he’d say ‘touché’). Last night, it was ultimately Kuroo himself who had accepted the shirts, and while there had been some heavy persuasion going on courtesy of the shirts’ owner, it wasn’t like Bokuto was breathing down his neck, forcing him to wear his shirt today. Oh no, that was all on Kuroo as well.

After having taken a shower the night before to wash off all the day’s gritty sweat and grime, Kuroo had face-planted into his pillows smelling only like his shampoo brand and... _fucking_ citrus (Bokuto’s words, _’actually a more orangey citrus’,_ echoed in his skull but he promptly ignored them). The warm spray of water pouring from the shower head had completely washed Bokuto’s scent off his skin, and Kuroo had consequently experienced a wretched night filled with insomnia and fitful dreams because everything has just... just, felt so off.

As he lay awake at three o’clock in the morning with his head shoved between two pillows and frustration bubbling up in his gut, Kuroo realized that his body had already normalized having the alpha’s scent surround him, which meant he was absolutely _fucked_ \--and not in the sexy way. God, there had been plenty of warning signs too, that was the most frustrating part of this whole thing, what with his stretched assurances to Iwaizumi and his sappy cuddle-hug session with Bokuto yesterday, it was amazing how he didn’t see this coming. He was just that stupid.

And after that fitful night where he only managed a solid three hours of sleep between restless dreams, Kuroo, unable to mentally persevere through the weird emptiness and vulnerability that caused goosebumps to break out over the skin of his arms, had surrendered and snatched a random ‘Bokuto Scent Guaranteed’ shirt from the pile he had previously thrown on top of his dresser and fervently threw it over his sweaty torso with trembling hands.

The alpha’s woody scent had immediately engulfed him like a comforting blanket, and Kuroo had let out a shaky breath of relief as it filled his nostrils and settled his climbing anxiety and he was right, he was fucked because this checked off all the boxes of ‘addiction’ to him. After looking at a calendar, he had calculated that his heat was scheduled to arrive this Sunday (exactly nine days after he had stopped taking his suppressants), but something told him that if he kept this up, he’d be tempting an earlier starting date.

He could blame this, all of this, on his heat and the rising waves of omega instincts, but even then it had been Kuroo’s own decision to idiotically follow the magazine’s advice and cease taking his suppressant medications in the first place, which triggered his new heat cycle. Seriously, this new inside joke Kuroo was executing better pay off or he’s going to threaten to sue the magazine publisher under false promises.

Kuroo held back the desire to groan out loud because, for once, he wanted to think about something that wasn’t published on his long list of bad life choices. He could think about this quickly spiraling out of control situation and his regrets later, like tomorrow. Yeah, on Tuesday. Tuesday seemed like a swell day to admit all his faults and shortcomings. Instead he wanted to think about Bokuto, who he was still worried about even after their discussion last night.

After coming to terms with his newfound scent addiction, because admitting one had a problem was the first step towards recovery, Kuroo had walked into the living room to find Bokuto sitting on the couch, hunched over a bowl of cereal in his lap as he watched the highlights of the weekend’s pro volleyball matches, and Kuroo had suggested the park adventure. While the alpha wasn’t outwardly wallowing in despair or dragging his feet as he shoveled off-brand Lucky Charms into his face, Kuroo knew that there was no way the guy could be back to his usual one hundred and ten percent so quickly after such a troubling evening.

So Kuroo had planted himself in front of the living room television, which earned him Bokuto’s immediate complaints as he chucked a soggy Lucky Charm at him (the cereal had stuck to his bare shins, and, as if to add insult to injury, it had been a rice piece, Bokuto being too stingy to even waste one of his limited marshmallow shapes on him), and announced their impromptu adventure to the park. The ingenious plan of his was mutually beneficial as well, for it would do Bokuto some good to get out of the house, and Kuroo needed a breather to just escape their apartment that was saturated with their combined scents. Plus, Kuroo could also admit that with Kenma’s departure back home early this morning, he had been feeling a little down himself.

Kuroo hummed lightly, wallowing in his thoughts, before shifting his attentions to the chattering alpha sauntering alongside him. A healthy flush dusting his cheeks from of the merciless summer’s heat, Bokuto gestured wildly with his free hand and described, in vivid detail, his childhood memory of getting nailed in the head once by a flying stone, pausing every once in a while to take another ginormous chunk out of his quickly disappearing waffle cone, and even then sometimes his mouth would keep rambling away. Well, according to how carefree he was acting, their park definitely-not-a-date-alright date had done the alpha some good, as per his plan, and Kuroo was even feeling better himself too now that he’d gotten some fresh air and he could _think_.

The overpowering scents of nature --clean cut grass, the aromatic food of the food stands, blooming flowers, and even that homeless man sleeping on the bench-- were a welcomed reprieve as he wasn’t constantly drowning in Bokuto’s muskier scent. Rather, Kuroo was merely treading water in Bokuto’s scent. The balance of the scents was perfect as Kuroo’s head felt clearer than it had for the past twelve hours, while at the same time the scent of his ‘melatonin pill with skin and eyes and everything’, as Bokuto had disturbingly put it yesterday, had just enough of a presence to soothe him.

While Bokuto finished inhaling his waffle cone, the sound of hushed whispers that haphazardly threw around the words ‘omega’ and ‘heat’ drew Kuroo‘s attentions away from his thoughts where he had been imagining a smug ass looking Bokuto with a pill bottle of sleeping medication duct taped to his bare chest as he made a ‘sleep with me’ innuendo, to the origin of the distracting noise. As he calmly licked the dribble of melted ice cream that had begun rolling down his wrist, Kuroo disinterestedly flicked his eyes towards the gaggle of high school boys posturing by the side of the path’s public walkway, a few of them sprawled across a bench situated in the cool shade and a handful leaning leisurely against the trees like they thought they were hot shit or something. At his innocent action, the majority of the high schoolers immediately grew red in the cheeks and snapped their heads away while two rather ballsy teens widened their eyes with interest and maintained eye contact as him and Bokuto approached.

Ah, horny teens, an inescapable reality of life. Kuroo couldn’t fault them, though, as he was indeed a prime choice of omega ass and going through two puberties meant developing hormones were constantly oozing out of their pores (life was cruel, as soon as they were finished with one puberty, they were sent head-first into another), the poor unlucky hotheads. That being said, while Kuroo might feel sympathetic, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t drag them down a peg or two for his own amusement. Kuroo felt his upper lip lift in an intimidating sneer, relishing in the fact that the two horny bastards suddenly looked a lot less confident when they nervously gulped, and he was about to make a brilliant, ego-massacring quip, which would be strategically just loud enough for the entire group to overhear as they passed, when he caught Bokuto moving in his peripheral vision.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bokuto crane his head forwards to see what had captured Kuroo’s attentions, and his gaze found and locked onto the awkwardly fidgeting gaggle of very embarrassed, yet still very interested, teens. Much to Kuroo’s surprise, the unexpected charred scent of irritation slowly mixed with the alpha’s earthy tones and tickled Kuroo’s nose, but before he could open his mouth and ask the guy what had troubled him, Bokuto reached up and hooked his arm around Kuroo’s neck.

The heavy weight of Bokuto’s arm falling on his neck caused Kuroo to stumble, barely catching himself as he let out some sort of ‘eck’ noise, as Bokuto practically dragged his head down to his level --and give him a little warning next time, alright? The warm weight of Bokuto’s arm was too hot for his already clammy skin, but at the same time it took every ounce of self-control (and self-respect) for Kuroo not to melt into the half-assed embarrassed because, _goddammit_ , he _was_ more touchy than normal.

Kuroo was left fumbling with his dripping ice cream cone that nearly escaped his suddenly shaky grasps, oh god he was just an uncool mess today, and pretending to not be affected when he caught Bokuto smugly smirking like the fucking cream that got the cat (or, fuck, no, was it the other way around? Kuroo couldn’t think straight with Bokuto’s arm around him and his breath hitching in his throat) as the remaining teens dejectedly glanced away when the two of them passed by, Kuroo’s eyes widening because there was only one explanation for their admittance of defeat.

Shit, the kids probably assumed that Bokuto and him were a _pair_ , and did Kuroo even have the right to argue against that assumption right now, what with how he was bathed in the alpha ace’s scent and even wearing his damn shirt? Suddenly conscious of the way Bokuto’s shirt hung off his shoulders a little too loosely, Kuroo prayed splotching redness wasn’t climbing up his heated neck as they continued walking and thankfully put some distance between themselves and the teens. God, Kuroo could actually hear Kenma sighing in exasperation in his mind and could envision Iwaizumi giving him that pointed ‘I know you’re fibbing, you fibber’ look like the one he had worn yesterday at the gym.

After he deemed they had traversed an appropriate distance, Bokuto released his casual headlock on Kuroo, and the omega fought the shiver that threatened to rack down his spine when his roommate slid his sweaty palm over the nape of his neck because, _oh fuck_ , that was definitely an accidental scent marking, Iwaizumi would never believe anything Kuroo said ever again. By now he probably reeked of Bokuto. Thankfully Kuroo was able to refrain from shivering, which would totally give his true feelings away and destroy everything Kuroo had fought to prevent Bokuto from ever figuring out, as he muttered a little, “Hey, thanks, Bo.” For the little show he had just pulled.

Really, Kuroo hadn’t minded the interested stares, as they were just that; harmless stares and idle comments about the smell of an omega approaching heat, but Bokuto had probably thought Kuroo had been held aghast by such defiling gazes, and the alpha had acted accordantly to protect his omega honor. But the kids hadn’t initiated any harassment or insinuated any derogatory statements, and, honestly, Kuroo couldn’t get all that mad at them when he didn’t get frustrated over flocks of omegas gushing over the alpha 3rd years and talk about just how exactly those muscles could be put to good work during one of their heats (in unnecessarily vivid accounts, like goddamn, guys, pause for a moment and chug some water for your thirsty asses).

As Kuroo took a bite of his waffle cone, Bokuto blinked at him in confusion like he didn’t know what Kuroo was referring to, and, alright, Kuroo hadn’t exactly been expecting that reaction. Bokuto better wipe that confused expression off his face because, out of the two of them, why the hell was the alpha surprised? He’s the one who initiated the whole ‘pretend to be in a relationship to protect his omega best friend’s dignity’ stunt, a classic in the books of the bro code. After a heavy pause, Bokuto’s brows lifted in understanding and Kuroo eyed him warily when he eventually assured with a blasé wave of his hand, “Ha, yeah, no problem.”

 _What a dumbass_ , Kuroo thought fondly in his head, before the situation reminded him of much more trying matters. With reluctance, Kuroo reminded himself that he should probably seize this park outing opportunity to accomplish the magazine’s fourth step, just get it done and over with so he could relax with Bokuto the rest of the afternoon without having to stress over finding another occasion where he could put himself in mortal danger.

And, shit, what just transpired with the group of acne-ridden, horny teens didn’t count, did it? With Bokuto righteously defending his honor? It would have been too convenient if it had, but Kuroo hadn’t exactly been in any danger, nor had his actual honor been threatened. Kuroo wanted to sigh out his frustrations, but he didn’t want to alert Bokuto. The bitter writers at _Omega Teen Magazine_ publishing headquarters, which Kuroo was just assuming by now was located in the fiery pits of hell, wanted Bokuto to don a white knight’s armor and whisk Kuroo away in that coveted princess carry that the main editor of the article really seemed desperate for.

Unfortunately, Kuroo had yet to decide on what exactly Bokuto would be saving him from, as his mind was drawing blanks. He kind of just wanted to purposely trip himself and get this whole ordeal over with, but he was too scared that Bokuto wouldn’t intervene and, like the asshole he was, laugh his ass off as Kuroo ate pavement. Kuroo wouldn’t even be mad, he would have done the same. They just shared that kind of friendship. God, he might have the largest, grossest crush on his best friend, but that wouldn’t stop Kuroo from cackling if Bokuto randomly tripped and gave himself a bloody nose.

So Kuroo had absolutely no idea what to do, and he had sort of been hoping that the opportunity would present itself at the park, like they’d get jumped by some muggers or something in broad daylight with tons of witnesses around. So far his hopes and prayers had not been yet answered, which meant it was up to Kuroo to forge an artificial situation where Bokuto could be all manly and shit --get those protective alpha instincts bubbling up to protect an obviously incapable omega such as Kuroo.

Glancing around, Kuroo tried identifying any potential openings to pick a fight. Far ahead to their right was a gathering of young elementary kids romping around in a sandbox, laughing and screeching at one another as they buried and unearthed colorfully painted dinosaur figures in the sand. No, too young, plus Kuroo would feel like he would be beating up miniature versions of his adopted disciple Tsukishima. The oversized, blonde beta was apparently obsessed with dinosaurs, as Kuroo had once overhead when he had joined Kenma to visit his panko fried-shrimp boyfriend, and it was information Kuroo had remained close-mouthed about (though every fiber of his being _ached_ to tell Bokuto, who was Tsukki’s other adoptive father) solely with the intent to use it against the fellow middle blocker later if the need so arise. Or, you know, information to use if he decided to buy the kid a graduation present later when he finished high school, whichever situation arrived first.

When he was finished deciding whether or not to beat up innocent children (the sad part was that Kuroo couldn’t say with complete confidence that they could win such a fight. Neither him or Bokuto had ever gotten in a brawl that didn’t include a volleyball as their opponent, and kids these days were fucking ruthless and played dirty), Kuroo’s gaze absentmindedly moved onto the scenery about them as he finished his waffle cone and wiped his sticky hands against his shorts. Instead of children, it’d be a lot easier picking a fight with an inanimate object, like a tree -- _wait_.

Screw the children. With immense interest, Kuroo eyed a certain tree off the path with lower hanging branches, because he was onto something.

A tree. This way, he wouldn’t have to result to fist-fighting elementary school students, for instead he could just climb a tree and pretend to get stuck for the magazine’s prompt, only to have Bokuto gallantly rescue him. Kuroo had never taken it upon himself to attempt climbing a tree before, never saw the appeal of scratching up the skin of his palms in an effort to become taller (after all, he wasn’t Yaku… shit, that runty alpha probably loved the ever-living fuck out of climbing trees), but how hard could it be to get down? If a child or, similarly in size, Yaku, could climb trees, then it couldn’t be all that difficult for an able-bodied, university student such as himself. All one had to do was just... climb in reverse. Easy. But that part didn’t even matter, as Bokuto would be the one donning the white knight’s armor and rescuing his distressed ass from the harrowing fate of being stuck in a tree.

His legs abruptly skidding to a halt, Kuroo jolted his arm in front of Bokuto and tightly grabbed onto the guy’s shoulder, and Bokuto promptly tripped over his feet. Thankfully the alpha caught himself, and he shot Kuroo a confused glance as they stood in the middle of the pathway, forcing other walking park goers to skirt around them, like the nuisances they were. Eyes determinedly fixed on the tree, Kuroo used his free hand to point past the alpha’s chest, and he bent his head closer to Bokuto’s as he whispered conspiringly, “Dude, do you see that tree right there? The one closest to that flower patch.”

Kuroo nearly got a mouthful of hair when Bokuto obediently shifted his head, and Bokuto took a moment to search for the object of Kuroo’s attention. “Fuckin’ perfect tree,” Bokuto commented lightly when he spotted it, obviously just playing along though he probably had no fucking idea what Kuroo was getting at here.

And, yes, yes it was the perfect tree. With its low hanging branches, the maple tree was practically calling his name, using a breathy whisper to seduce him like a siren enthralls sailors at sea with her sultry tones; the tree’s leaves a brilliant shade of green that hypnotically shifted with the wind that drew Kuroo ever so closer --and, alright, he was going to stop complimenting the tree now, it was getting way too weird and way too descriptive.

Pushing uncomfortably sexual thoughts of the tree from his mind, Kuroo aimed a smirk at Bokuto when the alpha turned back to look at him. “I bet I can climb it faster than you can,” he declared with a tone that could be described as at the minimum one-half mocking, a quarter of giddy excitement, one-eighth truly competitive, and the remaining one-eighth dedicated to naturally added flavors.

As soon as the challenge left his lips, Kuroo sprinted for the tree with an only slightly deranged grin twisting his lips, leaving Bokuto zero seconds to respond to the challenge and in the literal dust as he leaped in front of the alpha and took off running when his feet hit the concrete pavement. The alpha immediately barked an objection at Kuroo’s back, his shouted complaint of ‘ _Tetsu, you asshole, no fair!_ ’ delightful music to his ears because, hah, _sucker_.

Kuroo was cackling by the time he reached the wall lining the park pathway, leaping over the brick and mortar structure with ease before rushing towards the tree as Bokuto spluttered behind him. The wind felt refreshing against his heated face and rustled his hair, and for a hot second Kuroo could actually _see_ when the wind blew away the fringe hanging over his eye and his world fucking doubled, it was a miracle.

His hair eventually settled and Kuroo was already grabbing ahold of the lowest hanging branch when Bokuto got with the program and hopped over the wall and jogged up to the tree with an unhurried gait, already accepting defeat, as he whined, “That’s not fair, man, you got a head start!” The alpha crossed his arms petulantly at the ‘injustice’ of the situation and seemed a hair’s breadth away from stomping his feet like a toddler who got told it was bedtime and he couldn’t watch the Cars movie for the two-hundred and sixth time in a row that day, what a sore loser, as he watched Kuroo climb.

The omega just hoped he looked cool and not like he was desperately scrambling for purchase. Climbing trees was a cool kid thing to do, right? All the cool kids in his elementary school could climb trees and had tree houses and shit. Kuroo heaved himself up another level of branches with only minor flailing and a breathy ‘ _oopfh_ ’ as he kicked his legs before finding purchase against a lower branch. He would have glanced down and called Bokuto a weenie (a title truly deserving for the weenie who gave up so easily) to goad the alpha further, but he was currently too focused on not falling to his death as his hands reached for another branch, the bark digging uncomfortably into his palms and threatening to slice into the delicate skin, and climbed higher.

When the branches started to become uncomfortably thin for his liking, he decided he had effectively proven his point and called it quits as he settled his ass on a stable branch. While pretending that the rough bark wasn’t digging painfully into his ass cheeks, Kuroo clutched the branch on either side of his thighs with his hands as he peered downwards, impressed that he had managed to climb as high as he did --what, this had to be a decent twelve feet? Hell, twelve feet was basically one-fourth the height of the forty-eight foot tall tower known as Lev Haiba.

From this vantage point, Bokuto’s height was drastically dwarfed as the alpha craned his head to stare upwards, and Kuroo felt a smug sense of superiority fill him as he swung his legs in the air and he quite literally looked down on his roommate (before promptly ceasing the swinging action as the momentum caused the branch to tremble and, hell no, Kuroo did not particularly enjoy that). From his current perspective, Bokuto, obviously biting his cheek and arms still crossed in a show of petulance, looked as tall as Karasuno’s chibi-chan, all the alpha needed was some orange paint thrown on his head and the two would be indiscernible from one another, given the onlooker maintained a twelve foot height difference whenever he compared the two. Kuroo had to restrain himself from snickering because, god, he felt like he was getting drunk off this wonderful height superiority, no wonder Yaku loved climbing trees in his pastime.

But he wasn’t here to contemplate dumping a bucket of paint on his crush, or poke fun at Yaku’s blatantly obvious insecurity, though god knows how badly he wished that was the case as he’s already compiled seven different height puns in the recesses of his mind (he would never say them out loud to Yaku’s face, though, because that’d just be _below the belt_ ). Hah, good one, he should write that one down and text it to the bastard later now that they were separated by an hour-long train ride and the ex-libero’s _short_ fuse could safety detonate miles away. Damn, Kuroo was just full of _high_ quality puns --and alright someone please stop him because he really did have a purpose for climbing up here.

“No fair!” Bokuto cried out from below him again, his booming voice easily rising above the rushing wind that flooded Kuroo’s ears and rustled the leaves surrounding him. “Get down here, I demand a rematch!” Fellow park goers shot them a mixture of annoyed and judgmental stares at their disruptive behavior, young parents clutching their younger children closer to their chests as they eyed their kids as if to say ‘there’s no way I’m raising my child to become like that’, but Bokuto was too busy impersonating a sulking three year old to notice and Kuroo couldn’t care less about whatever opinions they garnered of him.

“Alright, alright, quit your complaining,” _you giant alpha baby_ , Kuroo inwardly thought that last bit, but he hoped his condescending tone properly implied it anyways. And, alright, everything was going to plan, now all he had to do was pretend he was stuck… Kuroo peered downwards.

With a horrible sinking feeling blossoming in his gut, Kuroo ingeniously noted that the ground was really, _really_ far away. Like… he might have wrongly estimated the height he had climbed, this seemed more like eight hundred feet then it did twelve. His limbs felt heavy and useless, and he tried to imagine where he would even start in his descent… Alright, okay, he might actually be stuck in this godforsaken tree, and how in the actual hell was he supposed to get down?

As Kuroo dumbly sat there, unresponsive to Bokuto’s impatient hollers to get on with it, he stamped down the automatic fluttering of panic that caused his heart to skip several beats and his fingers to dig painfully into the bite of the tree bark as if suddenly desperate to find purchase, because what the hell was he doing getting all panicked about? Adam’s apple bobbing, Kuroo gulped before he played off the rising anxiety with a few, albeit forced and slightly hysteric, laughs. This was fine, no matter how strongly his pounding heartbeat argued differently, and in fact, this was even better.

He had to calm down. No worries, alright, because although getting stuck hadn’t been apart of his original plan, it made his inevitable rescue even more authentic. If he was going to be all honest and shit with himself, he had been kind of half-assing this because he thought the prompt could be easily comparable to utter garbage; garbage that belonged in a tween, high school romance movie where the cocky and extroverted alpha jock falls for the pure-hearted and innocent omega nerd, than it did in real fucking life.

But, oho, now he had a clear conscience, and a Kuroo Tetsurou with a clear conscience was a Kuroo Tetsurou to be revered and feared as all his greatest ideas were created when he believed he was in the obvious right. He should be viewing this unexpected turn of events as a fortunate happenstance, Kuroo told himself as his death grip on the thick tree branch supporting his weight and preventing him from falling to his early death tightened. “Uhm, dude,” Kuroo said warily as he leaned backwards, not even having to fake the slight anxiousness that lifted his pitch, “I think I’m stuck.”

Kuroo couldn’t decipher whether or not he was grateful for Bokuto’s sensitive hearing. The alpha’s elevated sense of hearing meant Kuroo didn’t have to shout his shameful admission for the entire park to judge, but it also meant that Bokuto had easily heard said shameful admission. His weakness acknowledged, Kuroo couldn’t make out Bokuto’s exact expression all that well considering their positions, but he didn’t have to see the guy’s dumb face to find out that the ace got a kick out of this development because the alpha immediately erupted into hearty laughter.

Bokuto wrapped his arms around his stomach as his shoulders hunched forwards, the force of his laughter literally bending him over, as Kuroo relinquished his vice-like grip on the tree branch to childishly tug down his left eye’s lower lid as he stuck out his tongue and wished Bokuto would just suffocate from his laughter. After Bokuto’s laughter had died off and he had finished stamping all over Kuroo’s pride, which was already mortally wounded after being subjected to wearing the owl pun shirt on top off this whole ‘stuck in a tree’ debacle, the ace straightened his body to perch his hands on his hips with a shit-eating grin wide enough for Kuroo (who had dropped his hand and smoothed his facial features into a more relaxed expression the second Bokuto had looked up) to see from his high vantage point. Sounding far too arrogant than for what the situation called for, Bokuto haughtily declared with a puffed out chest, “Then I guess I’ll just have to rescue you!”

What a capable guy. “My hero,” Kuroo dryly commentated as Bokuto grabbed ahold of the closest branch, and logically he knew that it was in his and the magazine’s bests interests to act a little more excited and really play into this whole ‘helpless omega’ act, but Bokuto’s laughter was still ringing in his head, mocking him, and one of Kuroo’s greatest personality flaw was pettiness (though ‘flaw’ was such a harsh word to use, it really left a negative taste on the tongue. He preferred the term ‘beautiful imperfection’). At this point, Kuroo should be pulling out the dramatics and really selling his innate feebleness as an omega with a pitiful sob for help or perhaps a well-placed back of the hand to his forehead accompanied by a swoon, but Kuroo thought he was doing well enough by stopping himself from flipping Bokuto the bird.

As he batted away a leaf from another branch that kept flapping in front of his face, Kuroo watched Bokuto heave himself up onto the branch before reaching for another, and he took this opportune chance to admire his friend’s _physique_ , of which he was ever thankful for and ever jealous of. Though Kuroo wasn’t ‘scrawny’ by any means, and erred more on the muscular side of ‘lean’, he had never been able to accomplish the sheer width of Bokuto’s shoulders and back no matter how many hours he dedicated himself to at the university gym or questionable New Years prayers at his hometown’s local shrine.

Kuroo idly watched his so-called hero climb up the tree and gradually ascend towards him with carefully planned steps, ogling the way his biceps and forearms glistened with sweat, courtesy of the summer’s heat, and the way Bokuto lightly scrunched his brows and bit his cheek in concentration. Bokuto would have looked kind of cool, all sweaty and manly and alpha-y and shit, if he wasn’t getting smacked in the nose every other five seconds by a thinner branch while he spluttered out various ‘yhack’ noises. Finally, Bokuto’s hands grasped onto Kuroo’s branch, lifting himself with a breathy grunt of exertion until he could twist around and sit his ass beside him on the branch, and the second the alpha was stable, he shot him a proud smirk while he wiped his forearm across his sweaty forehead.

While Kuroo glanced around and sweated nervously when their branch dipped worryingly, Bokuto declared as confidence practically oozed out from his very pores, “I’ve come to save you!” His molten golden eyes were bright and his brash voice was too cocky for his own good as he excitedly scooted closer, which caused their branch to sway and tremble and Kuroo’s resting heartbeat to elevate to dangerous levels.

Bokuto opened his mouth, probably about to demand Kuroo to praise him for his heroic deed, but Kuroo quirked a brow (before quickly realizing that he had raised his eyebrow that was hidden under his fringe, so he quickly lifted the other, visible, one to achieve the full effect) and curiously asked, “Oh? And how will my hero sweep me off my feet, today?” It better be something grand, grand enough to distract Kuroo from his quickly developing fear of heights and the shame of getting stuck that still made his ears burn a bright scarlet. Plus, Kuroo deserved the magnificent rescuing, his omega ass was a precious commodity here.

Closing his mouth, Bokuto paused as he glanced back and forth between the ground and Kuroo. Not exactly projecting confidence, the ace refused to make direct eye contact as he uneasily muttered with mild stumbling, “Uh, alright, um...” he hadn’t made it that far into his obviously brilliant rescue strategy when he paused again, his teeth digging gently into his lower lip as his gaze focused on the far away ground, “... first, we gotta...”

“You don’t know how to get down either, do you?” Kuroo deadpanned mercilessly, his voice not even disappointed but rather simply emotionless as he watched a bead of sweat roll down the alpha’s temple --was that from nervousness or the summer heat? Bokuto was stuck too, Kuroo could see the unspoken admission in the slightly panicked widening of his eyes, the refusal to meet his gaze, and the tensed muscle in his jaw, the guy’s reactions nearly mirroring Kuroo’s own after he had originally realized he had no idea how to tackle climbing down.

For approximately .05 seconds, Bokuto tensed his shoulders and looked like he was going to object to Kuroo’s observation, but with a long-winded sigh, he dropped his defensive posture and admitted a quiet, “Yeah...”

Silently, Kuroo’s eyelids fluttered closed and he lifted his chin to meet the gentle breeze, his hair ruffling from the wind along with the rustling leaves, as acceptance washed over him. It was strange, the calmness that swallowed his limbs, causing them to lay heavy at his side, when he should have immediately flipped the fuck out after realizing they had no means of getting down, but Kuroo just assumed that this was the sense of tranquility and peace that people experienced after they’ve accepted their looming death. They were both stuck in this godforsaken tree, with no means or inkling of any ideas to climb down.

For a few moments they sat in silence, absorbing the situation and reflecting upon their idiocy. Now that he was reflecting, this entire tree situation had been a bad idea, how did he even think Bokuto would be able to rescue him in the first place? Did he think he could just jump and have the guy catch him? Kuroo had passed physics and was well-familiarized with Newton’s Second Law of Motion, he knew that if he had leaped into Bokuto’s awaiting arms at this height, then force equals mass times acceleration would have snapped Bokuto’s arms or neck. And even if Bokuto did know how to climb down a tree, that would have helped him, how? How could the alpha have climbed down with him in tow? This was ridiculous, Kuroo should have just started a fight with the grade schoolers and just gotten play box sand thrown in his eyes. God, they were both idiots. Idiots stuck in a tree.

“Well,” Kuroo finally relinquished, his shoulders sagging as he accepted his fate, and Bokuto turned to look at him with a curious head tilt. “I guess we’ll just have to spend the rest of our lives here.” Bokuto nodded solemnly while Kuroo picked at the bark of the branch with his short fingernails as he promptly began planning out the rest of his newly adopted tree life.

This was a burden that he would have to shoulder as it was his responsibility to do so, and he would need to leave his old life behind in the dust to turn over a new... _leaf_ (heh, he was unstoppable today). No more university, no more _Omegawives of Shizuoka_ , no more grilled salted mackerel pike, no more Kenma —Kuroo’s heart clenched in protest at the mere thought. All his previous ties connecting him to the ground world would be cut, and all that would remain would be him, Bokuto, and the cruel, yet just, elements.

Bokuto hummed, his brows pinched, and after a moment’s thought he offered seriously, “I’ll hunt for you.” Good, good, so Bokuto would take up the role as hunter and supply them with daily sustenance, and Kuroo along with his developing height phobia had zero qualms with this. “I guess this is our lives now,” Bokuto continued as he picked leaves off their branches and dropped them, watching them flutter towards the ground, “dude, we’ll have to travel to find other tree communities and join a tribe.”

They were trapped in the wild, separated from civilization and modern thought, where they would have to rely on their deeply buried primal instincts to survive. While Bokuto ventured out into their staked territory in order to hunt and forage for food, Kuroo would remain, guarding their home and building a sick luxury treehouse to call their own. It seemed like they were going to revert to their secondary gender dynamics, and Kuroo found that he didn’t mind because he found it fitting for the situation. Plus, if Bokuto wanted to run around the scratchy and dirty treetops shouldering all the hard work of hunting and gathering while Kuroo himself kicked back and relaxed with alpha-delivered room service, who was he to intervene? Man, who knew that being an omega stuck in a tree certainly had its perks--

“Oh, god,” Kuroo suddenly groaned as a sudden realization came to him, and Bokuto sounded surprised when he asked him what was wrong. Here he had been, acting all smug and satisfied at his relaxed, imaginary tree life when he had momentarily forgotten the largest nuisance to ever exist for omegas. Gaze turning withdrawn, Kuroo hung his head and idly watched Bokuto’s newest, freed leaf drift delicately towards the ground before being picked up by the wind and flying away. Flying away, just like Kuroo’s ignorance as he remembered the threat of his oncoming heat.

Like that, his tree dreams were crushed. He couldn’t experience his heat in the goddamn treetops, that was a death wish waiting to happen. Not only was it not practical (because how the hell would he be able to move when every shift in position made the tree branches totter dangerously and threaten to overthrow his already precarious balance?), but Kuroo would be literally out of his mind during the second and third days of his heat, his brain overflowing with hormones and incapable of rational thought that didn’t revolve around getting knotted, _dammit_.

Bokuto had grown concerned, shifting nervously against the branch, by the time Kuroo broke his impressionable silence with another sigh. “I’m sorry, man, but we have to get down somehow. I can’t spend my damn heat in a tree,” Kuroo begrudgingly admitted, hoping his voice didn’t sound as petulant as he felt. And, because Kuroo felt a little guilty for ruining the fun mood they had settled into, he wagged his eyebrows and playfully added, hoping to wrangle back some of their light-hearted jokings, “My heat would have to be registered as a weapon because it would be _lethal_.”

Bokuto snorted, his nose scrunching adorably, because, ah, yes, joking about one’s sexual prowess in the bedroom, truly the height of young adult comedy. “During mid-heat, me and my tree-tribe partner would fall to our deaths, talk about a way to go,” He continued because Bokuto had played along and mentioned finding other treetop communities. And, take note, he had said ‘tree-tribe partner’ as in ‘not specifically Bokuto’, because that would have been really creepy if he had insinuated that the two of them would share his heat and become a pair.

Apparently, his second joke fell flat, as Bokuto didn’t laugh this time. Instead, the alpha redirected his gaze again and he let out an incomprehensible rumble that could have been any word in the dictionary, and the subpar reaction left Kuroo speechless and confused as he wondered how the hell he managed to fuck up the situation even more. Why did the guy look so pensive and dismayed? Should Kuroo go back to making more ‘killer sex’ jokes? Would that lighten the mood?

Kuroo could only dumbly watch as Bokuto kicked his feet, before the alpha seemingly pulled himself together (from what, he couldn’t even begin guessing), and he flashed Kuroo a smile that would have looked normal on anyone but Bokuto, whose smiles were always accompanied by a bright gleam of radiance, which was lacking now. It was like someone had taken ahold of Bokuto’s brightness lever and cranked it down to only fifty-percent, and Kuroo felt more worried than relieved when the ace easily agreed, “Alright then, man, let’s get ourselves down from here, then.”

Uneasy, yet not uncooperative, Kuroo nodded cautiously before peering downwards again as he asked, “You got any ideas rolling around in that hard head of yours?” At Bokuto’s immediate bark of complaint, Kuroo felt a little of the tension roll off his shoulders (so it appeared Bokuto wasn’t psyched out enough to not yell his lungs at in protest of Kuroo’s loving snarks), but he was still reeling over the ace’s out of character reaction. God, he fucked up somehow, didn’t he?

They both stared at the ground for a little longer as children from a nearby playground screamed and chased one another, the children uncaring of his and Bokuto’s predicament. Kuroo eyed the ground pensively as he tried pushing his previous wariness behind him. He had to focus on formulating a plan on how to get down, not obsessively focus what a single look of Bokuto’s _meant_. He could worry over the alpha’s reaction tomorrow, as he had already scheduled the reflection of all his faults tomorrow and might as well tack this on as well.

Twelve feet. There were roughly twelve feet between their branch and the blessed, safe ground… and, hey, both him and Bokuto were over six feet, right? That was half of twelve feet, and jumping down from six feet was a lot more preferable than twelve feet… Kuroo made an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat before he unconfidently suggested, “What if we… hung down from the branch, hanging on with our hands… and then let go?”

He wasn’t exactly sold on his own idea, but Kuroo couldn’t scrounge up any more plausible ideas, other than to possibly call-up Yaku and ask the guy to walk them through the descent. Kuroo’s phone sat heavy in his side pocket, and he inwardly scoffed at the ridiculous idea. Yeah, he had said he couldn’t think of any more _plausible_ ideas. There was no way Kuroo would push aside his pride and call the guy in his time of need.

Bokuto bobbed his head, and after they shared a look that could only be translated as ‘ah, fuck it’, they began implementing their plan. It was tricky and awkward, trying to shuffle into a position where they could drop from the branch and not immediately fall onto a lower one. There was a little bit of shoving involved, a little bit of whining when Bokuto accidentally sat his fat ass on his hand, and a little bit of clutching each other for dear life when the branch started trembling violently and creaked ominously, but eventually they both found positions to drop from.

By the time they gently scooted off the branch, Kuroo’s heart leaping into his throat before he caught the branch with his hands and remained suspended in the air in a shaky pull-up position, Kuroo had narrowed down the ‘People I’m Totally Going to Haunt’ list to Yaku and Daishou. Bokuto quickly followed suit with an unintelligible, yet somehow incredibly expressive, ‘oho, aha!’, pulling off the maneuver in a far more fluid motion as Kuroo cursed the alpha’s impressive shoulder muscles and biceps, before Kuroo hung his head and his gaze bore intensely into the ground as his own arm muscles began trembling.

Six feet. It was only six feet. On the count of three, they both let go of the branch at the same time, and Kuroo would like to say he didn’t scream, but the strangled shout that left his mouth the second they dropped could only be described as a ‘long, loud, piercing cry expressing extreme emotion or pain’. The only thing that made the situation better was the fact that Bokuto had also screeched, so at least he wasn’t alone in that sense.

When they fell, Kuroo’s stomach, large intestine, liver, and probably gallbladder joined his heart in his throat, and the world completely slipped out underneath him until he landed on his feet with a loud, dull thump and --and _fuck_ , no, never mind, he had thought that his feet had touched the ground, but he just _kept on falling_. His right ankle completely gave out, twisting underneath him with a sharp, painful jab that shot up his leg as Kuroo yelped and fell on his ass on the ground, all the while Bokuto’s feet missed the landing altogether and the alpha just skipped right to falling on his own ass with a pained groan.

It felt like his ankle had been lit on fire, and Kuroo sharply sucked in a shallow breath through his teeth as his hands lifted and rubbed at the joint, a tired exhalation escaping his lungs when he noted that it was already beginning to swell, _wonderful_. What the hell, his pride had already been wounded, so what did it matter if his body was wounded as well? That’s it, he was definitely going to sue the fucking magazine for putting his life in danger, and Kuroo didn’t know much about law, but he had watched enough criminal procedure shows to know that the company was liable to pay for his possible hospital visit and his perhaps his entire retirement, maybe.

Bokuto wasn’t fairing all that well either as the ace shakily pulled himself onto his hands and knees and ground out in a pained voice, “Bro, I think I just broke all the bones in my ass.” The alpha groaned again before standing up and brushing the dirt off his bare knees as well as dislodged the piece of tree bark that had buried itself in his shin. After he had brushed the offending piece of lumber aside, Bokuto turned his attentions unto Kuroo, and upon spotting his pitiable situation, instantly shouted, “Dude, you okay?!”

Kuroo grunted in reply, more annoyed than in pain if he was going to be honest, and Bokuto bounded over to him. “Shit, man,” Bokuto breathed as spotted the swelling, “That’s definitely going to need an ankle brace, good thing we have like twenty back home…” Bokuto paused as Kuroo jutted out his lower lip in a pout, because Bokuto _knew_ he hated the ankle brace. So what if he just didn’t… like, wear it? Would that be alright?

“If I think about wearing the ankle brace,” Kuroo muttered, pout still crimping his lips downwards, “do you think that would be as good as actually wearing it?” His tone was slightly hopeful, like there was some chance he could get away with avoiding the damn contraption of torture. The ankle brace just got so sweaty and it was ridiculously uncomfortable to sleep in as the Velcro straps scratched against the sheets of his bed, Kuroo hated it with every fiber of his being.

Bokuto’s snort cruelly dashed all his hopes, and he bent over Kuroo and kindly offered, “Do you need any help getting up, man?” The alpha purposely avoided the ankle brace topic, probably knowing whatever he said would be met with several strongly worded objectifications, as he stood above him with leaves sticking out of his gelled hair and, frankly, looking far too exuberated and rosy-cheeked and refreshed considering the trauma they had just gone through.

God, they had just fallen out of a tree, the alpha shouldn’t look this warm and stupidly happy. It was unfair, and Kuroo could only hope that his pained grimace looked as sexy as Bokuto was refreshing and not at all like he had just fallen out of a tree and twisted his fucking ankle. In response to the ace’s offer, Kuroo expectantly raised his arms, and Bokuto smirked at the childish gesture before he hooked his hands underneath his armpits and lifted.

Unfortunately, they had both forgotten that Kuroo’s ankle had opted out of working, so as soon as Bokuto roughly pulled him up into a standing position, Kuroo’s knees buckled and he collapsed when his ankle refused to bear his weight --but, this time, he took Bokuto down with him. In a flurry of limbs and more unmanly screeches of surprise, they tumbled towards the ground, and Kuroo had the air whooshed out of his lungs when his back landed onto the ground, and he nearly bit his tongue when the back of his head slammed against the dirt. And, just because life had it out for him, any remaining air in his lungs was literally knocked out of him when Bokuto landed smack dab on top of his chest, and Kuroo _wheezed_.

They both groaned, and it was only then when Kuroo realized how close Bokuto actually was. Wide-eyed, Kuroo stared dumbly upwards, his mind and body in a state of shock as his mind whirled in an attempt to process exactly what happened. They had fallen, that much he could gather, and then proceeded to land in the cheesiest position that only romantic dramas tried to pull off, what with Bokuto’s hands planted by either side of his head and the guy’s lower half pressing against Kuroo’s own, their legs practically tangled together. It was so cliché and gross and Kuroo was about to voice his complaints when Bokuto started laughing and his vocal cords short-circuited.

The soft dirt and grass cradled his head and scratchily tickled the back of his neck and ears as he laid there in abrupt silence as he blinked up at the ace, who was snickering more to himself than anything. Bokuto’s golden eyes were crinkled as his short burst of spontaneous laughter drifted away, and a gigantic, lopsided smiled wide enough to show teeth replaced the snickers. “ _We fell_ ,” the alpha noted unnecessarily, his tone hushed and giddy with excitement like this statement was some profound secret shared between them while Kuroo stared, awed.

“This is so cheesy, man,” Bokuto continued, his voice nearly cracking as if he was trying to stop another round of giggles from spewing forth, and his smile never lost its brilliance, “it’s so cheesy but I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and everything.” Bokuto snorted at his own comment, probably realizing how cliché he sounded right now, but Kuroo hadn’t heard the words as he was too busy watching the warmth in Bokuto’s soft gaze whenever the alpha spoke to him.

 _Shit,_ Kuroo parted his mouth to speak and his throat strained but the words were silent, _I’m in love_. His heart suddenly hammering in his chest as if it was trying to escape his body, Kuroo came to the conclusion that he had it _bad_. He was in love with this dumbass sprawled on top of him, and he couldn’t even feel the dull pain in his ankle anymore nor care about the weird looks that the other park goers sent their way because _fuck, man,_ he was in _love_.

In an unexpected flare of embarrassment, Kuroo lifted his arms and protectively covered his face with his hands as he squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see the utter happiness being projected from Bokuto’s face. He could _feel_ the redness of a blush spread at an alarming rate across his neck and face, leaving his skin hot and splotchy, because he was in fucking love and he _could not_ let Bokuto see him like this. Fucking… this wasn’t a crush anymore.

Vaguely, he could hear Bokuto questioningly calling out his name, but Kuroo refused to move his hands and look at the alpha, instead choosing to lay there in silence as he felt his blush deepen. No, what he felt now was so much more than a crush, it had been for quite some time now. Calling this a ‘crush’ didn’t even scratch the surface, and even the words ‘in love’ felt too cheap, like it didn’t properly explain what he felt at all.

Kuroo wanted to be with Bokuto, in all sense of the words. He wanted to wake up in the morning to Bokuto snoring noisily by his side and Kuroo would wake him up by pinching his nose, he wanted to praise the guy for his spectacular toast making abilities for all of eternity, he wanted to create crazy, elaborate plans with him that would leave them running breathlessly through the mall or streets or forest as they cackled to one another, he wanted to share his goddamn heat with the alpha and wanted to tie the guy to him by using his own omega body through the making bite, he wanted to buy their apartment’s eighth emergency volleyball pump and watch Bokuto’s face light up and agree that they really did need another, he wanted to compete over who could clean the dishes better so he could watch that smugass grin spread across Bokuto’s face, Kuroo merely _wanted_.

“Kuroo?” Bokuto doubtfully questioned above him, and Kuroo could hear the worriedness marring his usually cheerful tone. “Kuroo, what’s wrong? Dude, are you hurt?” at that, Bokuto sounded slightly panicked, and Kuroo felt the ace tug gently at his forearms, but the omega remained unmovable. His tugs getting a little stronger and his tone adopting a more panicked hurriedness to it, Bokuto spluttered, “Come on, man, are you okay? Can you move your hands?”

Bokuto really did sound worried for him, but not even the guilt gnawing at his gut could influence Kuroo enough to move his hands. He wouldn’t --couldn’t-- let Bokuto see the very emotions on his face that he had been desperately trying to hide for all these years. Instead, Kuroo furiously shook his head (and in the far recesses in his mind he wondered how many blades of grass or sticks or small bugs had found their way into his hair) and he weakly protested, “No, don’t look at me.” His voice was all low and groggy, it was so gross.

Apparently Kuroo didn’t have a say in the matter. He felt both of Bokuto’s hands grab his forearms, the alpha’s lower half nearly squashing him into the grassy ground to support his weight, and forcefully _pry_ Kuroo’s arms away. His eyes shot open in surprise and an ungraceful sounding squawk left Kuroo’s mouth as Bokuto pinned his arms by either side of his head, and Kuroo spluttered because what the actual hell was the guy trying to do?

Kuroo had absolutely no idea what expression he was wearing --though he could guess the scarlet blush blooming across his features was as obvious and incriminating as he believed it to be-- but whatever Bokuto saw made the alpha widen his eyes in shock, which was all wrong because if anyone had a right to be shocked here, it was Kuroo himself. But then Kuroo nearly chocked on his spit when Bokuto’s countenance adopted this whole ‘dumbfounded’ look, and, fuck, was his face really that bad to warrant such an expression from the ace?

Automatically switching into Defense Mechanism #2, Kuroo twisted the right corner of his lips into a sneer that probably didn’t look all that intimidating with the splotchy redness heating up his face, and he sarcastically jaunted, “What, are you that entrapped by my beauty?” Because while Kuroo had no idea what in the world was happening, he did know that he probably wouldn’t describe his ugly, flustered state as anything close to ‘beautiful’.

However, much to his rising anxiousness, Bokuto didn’t respond. The alpha didn’t burst into his usual laugh or bite back with a cocky quip of his own like he usually did, but just continued to stare while Kuroo felt the hair that dusted across his forearms lift at the intensity of the alpha’s gaze. Kuroo exhaled, but his breath came out as a strangled wheeze, and his voice shook unconfidently as he not-so-sternly demanded, “Get off me, you giant alpha baby.”

Bokuto wasn’t even merciful enough to give him time to collect his thoughts and compose himself, instead the alpha refused to budge and merely muttered a soft, “I don’t want to.” The ace had said it absentmindedly, his tone obviously telling Kuroo that the guy was thinking about something else and had no fucking clue about what he had just said or what those words could imply.

Kuroo bristled, and he had had enough because his heart was sort of vulnerable right now after coming to terms with his sappy love for one of his best friends and he could only endure so much. Face still flaming, Kuroo quickly untangled their legs and sharply _kicked_ the alpha off of him with a grunt, because he was smart enough to realize that he had no chance of defeating Bokuto’s biceps so he aimed at his legs. The strategic plan was effective.

At his kicks, Bokuto yelped as he was thrown aside, and the alpha was forced to let go of Kuroo’s arms. The alpha did a sweet little roll that was perhaps more for show than necessity, and Kuroo took his chance to pull himself up and shakily stand up off the ground. He didn’t even realize his fingers were trembling until he brushed them through his hair, pulling out the strands of grass and a stray leaf that had tangled themselves in his messy bed head, and Kuroo tried to calm his nerves with a deep breath. It didn’t work.

As Bokuto remained laying on the ground, obviously refusing to stand up and instead choosing to sulk at having been thrown off like the giant alpha baby he was, and complained from the ground that his kicking hadn’t been called for, Kuroo glanced down at his shaking fingers, watching the way they minutely trembled even as he clenched and unclenched his hands. He couldn’t stop shaking, and Kuroo couldn’t tell if this physical reaction was a consequence from his epiphany or his oncoming heat (shit, his omega body probably _loved_ getting pinned down by Bokuto, to bad Kuroo was too busy being mortified at his own revelation to acknowledge that part of him).

This wasn’t a joke anymore. His ‘crush’ wouldn’t get ‘better’ or suddenly dissipate with enough time, and Kuroo could feel that he would come to regret everything if he didn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t stand at the sidelines anymore, it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Bokuto because Kuroo would never be truly happy for the guy if he did find a different mate, Kuroo would be too deeply entangled in his own feelings of jealousy. It wasn’t fair for Kuroo himself, he didn’t deserve to watch Bokuto date and pair up with another person. And, if he never revealed his feelings, it wasn’t fair to whoever Kuroo did end up with because he would always have this regret, and in the sleepy dawn of the mornings his mind would always be drawn back to Bokuto.

Kuroo risked a glance down at the protesting alpha, who was still sprawled out across the ground looking very tempting, and he clenched his hands again. He didn’t know what he was going to do, especially since up until this point he had always been a massive coward and he didn’t even know if he even  _could_ confess. He didn’t know if he was going to follow along with the stupid magazine, but this time seriously, or if he was even going to execute the steps to the very end. He didn’t know, but now he knew he had to do _something_.

God, he was so, so scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s your obligatory halfway reminder that I live for validation and would give my left _kidney_ to anyone who's commented and kudo-ed so far, like hand me a fucking scalpel and it’s yours
> 
> Update: oh boy, I’m thinking this one will have to be ~~**05/20/2018**~~ **5/28/2018**


	6. Step 5. Be Mommy Material

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _also what th e hell is Bokuto's actual hair color_. naturally white like his eyebrows?? black like his roots????? dyed??

 Step 5. Be Mommy Material

  _“We’re still not done with flaunting our irresistible omega characteristics, readers! Alright, you’ve acted like a damsel in distress, and now it’s time to act like a mom. That’s right, show your alpha that you are perfect mommy material for your future children and therefore the perfect mate! Our editors recommend babysitting some younger kids, cooking for your alpha, or even offering to clean their bedroom (this is a chance to sneak through their drawers and make sure they’re not hiding any perverted materials that would make them a sexual deviant. Stay away from those kinds of alphas!). There’s nothing more attractive to an alpha than an omega who knows how to care for and raise a child, so tie that apron around your waist and start playing house! Who knows, maybe one day all this ‘mommy play pretend’ with come in handy!_

_(LEGAL DISCLAIMER: According to governmental laws implemented in the publication industry to protect minors,_ Omega Teen Magazine _is required to clarify that we, under no circumstances, endorse teen pregnancies)_

-Excerpt from ‘How to Woo Your Alpha Crush in 7 Easy Steps’ pg 38-39, _Omega Teen Magazine_

It was a Wednesday evening, and the sun was gradually disappearing down behind the expanding horizon, the intensity of the sun’s rays lessening much to the relief of the townspeople that could stop fanning their perspiring faces with their own hands as they walked down the sidewalks or waited in the heat for a bus. It was a rather calm evening, what with the dulcet tones of buzzing cicadas while the workers of the day clocked out and found their way to their homes and waiting families. While lampposts lining the streets began lighting up at the looming arrival of dusk, a ‘We’re Open!’ sign nailed to a particularly run down looking convenience store’s front wall flickered.

Inside the convenience store, the bright fluorescent bulbs buzzed only somewhat worryingly --though it was possible that the buzzing noise could be coming from the handful of flies and moths trapped between the light bulbs and their case coverings, and not from the failing electrical wiring-- while the register, manned by a weary looking high school student who was probably forced by his parents to get a summer job in order to learn ‘responsibility’, rang with every cash deposit. Disregarding the low humming of the fluorescent lights, the store was relatively quiet as very few people were wondering about. The only patrons were the group of older betas huddled by the giant frosty refrigerator doors as they argued over which brand of beer to buy for their friend’s birthday party ( _’you take that fucking back, Kobayashi is not a Kirin sort of guy, get that nasty watery beer of yours out of here’_ ), the old alpha grandpa by the checkout counter taking ten minutes to scrumptiously inspect every lottery ticket, and a certain black-haired omega.

His head peeking out from the aisle of pre-packaged meals and speaking on the phone, Kuroo stood in front of the wide array of food selection with his phone squeezed between ear and shoulder and his few other grocery items tucked underneath both of his armpits because fuck those mini grocery baskets; Kuroo had lived on this earth for nineteen years and yet he still didn’t know how to hold them comfortably, as they either always knocked against the side of his leg if he held the basket at his side, or awkwardly slammed against his thighs if he held the basket in front of his body. As he talked to Kenma and developed a kink in his neck from how his head and shoulder were scrunched towards one another to keep the phone in place, he glanced between two different options of pre-packaged meals in either one of his hands.

Multitasking like the goddamn virtuoso he was, Kuroo narrowed his eyes and squinted back and forth between a chicken katsu meal and a premade egg dish, flipping the plastic containers over to eye their nutritional info, as he tried to decipher which one would make the best dinner for someone who had come down with the wretched common cold. But, oh no, not him. Thankfully Kuroo wasn’t sick, but instead it was the Almighty Bokuto Koutarou whose immune system had gone and failed him.

Apparently Bokuto struggled with a little bit of early spring allergies, even though Kuroo kept telling him that he couldn’t just have spring allergies if he got said allergies during the middle of the summer months, and Bokuto’s nose had gotten all stuffy after Monday’s romp around the park. As it turned out, all that time the two of them spent in the branches of the tree (and falling out of it) was not all that good for the sinuses or, more specifically, Bokuto’s sinuses. Tuesday morning, the alpha, with a runny nose and a pitiful groan, had stumbled out of the hallway and into the living area where Kuroo had been sitting on their couch as he shoveled warmed up leftovers into his mouth.

At that time, Kuroo, dressed in one of Bokuto’s pajama shirts, had been making due on Monday’s promise to reevaluate his life choices and admit his faults and failures. With every bite, he repeated the words ‘you’re an idiot’ in his head like the self-depreciating mantra it was as he blamed himself for the ridiculous situations he lately found himself in. Unfortunately his reflection of his own faults had been interrupted by Bokuto basically dragging himself into the kitchen, tearing off a paper towel from the roll, and practically shaking the entire damn floor when he loudly blew his stuffy nose.

It had just started off as allergies, but over the course of the day Bokuto had developed a bastardly case of sinus drainage, from what Kuroo could decipher from Bokuto’s sniffles and moans over his sore throat. Kuroo spent the rest of his Tuesday planted firmly in the opposite corner of whatever room Bokuto occupied to avoid any pathogens because, dammit, he was not going to get sick before his heat hit this Sunday, no matter how much he cared for the guy. Actually, to his credit, Kuroo had tried to be helpful once when he offered Bokuto some of the allergy medicine that his mom had shoved somewhere beneath his bathroom’s cupboards, but his offer had been rejected because ‘ _medicine is for wusses, Kuroo_ ’.

By Wednesday morning Bokuto had started coughing, and the miserable ace was still like that now, which really sucked because a few days ago they had made plans for tonight. There was this batting center attached to a concession stand that’s hours of operations expanded further into the night, and it was a popular place for university students to hang out and eat chips or frozen burgers. Him and Bokuto had rented a batting cage tonight (Kuroo can’t even remember the last time he picked up a baseball bat, but if you’re good at one sport, that automatically meant you’re good at all the sports, right?), and now the guy was resting back at their apartment in a desperate attempt to make a miraculous recovery before their reservation time.

So here Kuroo was, being the best bro, at the convenience store because he had decided to grab a nice hot meal for Bokuto that would hopefully help sooth his sore throat and help with his cold. Now, if only he knew what was effective in soothing cold symptoms. The word ‘porridge’ tended to get thrown around a lot when one was speaking about getting sick, but what the hell was even in porridge? Instead of something as bland and commonplace as porridge, Kuroo wished he could get his hands on something with wasabi, that would clear the fucker’s sinuses right up.

But he had yet to find anything that screamed ‘eat this and you’ll be cured from any disease, the cure doctors don’t want you to know about!’, but, admittedly, it was a little hard to focus on scanning meals or ingredients while simultaneously talking on the phone with Kenma. The shorter guy had called him right as Kuroo had been pulling open the door to the convenience store just a block away from his and Bokuto’s apartment, and Kuroo had just answered right there and then instead of asking him to call back later after he was done shopping. He had missed the guy, alright? Also, over the course of the week he had been slowly getting needier and needier for attention, though his body demanded most of that attention be from a certain alpha, and Kuroo was still feeling a little lonely after Kenma had gone back home on Monday morning.

Kenma had just been checking up on him, a fact that made Kuroo choke on his own emotions, and the setter had begun asking him very vague questions about how he was feeling, and all without mentioning the word ‘heat’ too; Kuroo was impressed as it was very impressive, the verbal gymnastics Kenma went through to avoid saying the word. After they safety navigated that awkward minefield, Kenma had turned the phone call’s subject onto his ‘idiot project’, as Kenma had non so fondly labeled it. Let the record show that Kuroo took offense to those words, but he merely kept quiet because he didn’t want to defend himself or the _Omega Teen Magazine_ in public. The other customers in the convenience store would likely be able to overhear him, and Kuroo never wanted to defend the garbage magazine for as long as he lived.

But, honestly, Kuroo was feeling pretty decent considering his heat was scheduled to hit in four days, or, at least that’s what he told Kenma and himself because he desperately wanted to believe it. He was still wearing one of Bokuto’s shirts, practically a necessity as his heat drew closer, but lately he’s been getting a little… twitchy, even though Bokuto’s shirt swathed him in the alpha’s heavy scent. Ever since he left the apartment there has been a weird uneasiness settling underneath his skin like he couldn’t be at peace unless Bokuto was in his sights, and his hands twitched every so often as if with the need to touch the alpha, how sappy did that sound?

The obvious lack of skinship between the two of them, now that Bokuto had come down with his stupid cold, probably contributed to this new development, but Kuroo wasn’t going to risk getting sick just to appease the omega side of him. No way he would allow himself as to so much as breathe in Bokuto’s direction because the common cold and an omega’s heat were just not supposed to be experienced simultaneously, okay? There would be fluids coming out from both ends --and alright, Kuroo’s face scrunched up in disgust at the mental picture.

And as for his progress on his ‘idiotic project’… As Kuroo had shuffled through the pre-packaged meal aisle in search for the perfect cold remedy, he had swiftly updated Kenma and, like Kenma previously, in very vague detail because he didn’t want to announce to the entire convenience store that he got carpet burn, which at this point in the healing stage itched like hell, from performing a dive impression and that he didn’t know how to climb down trees. While Kenma pointedly reminded him, with a tad of frustration, that this entire plan was a bad idea, Kuroo stared at the chicken katsu. He really needed to surround himself with friends who would support him and help him with the magazine’s steps… no, never mind, Kuroo didn’t have a right to even ask for such a thing, as he didn’t even support himself. God, like Kenma said, this whole thing had been such a bad idea.

The magazine’s fifth step was just as repulsive as the fourth, but at this point Kuroo’s been desensitized and his expectations were firmly planted in the negatives so it didn’t even phase him. Yeah, the magazine wanted him to kidnap a child and raise it in front of Bokuto or something to show off his obviously superior maternal capabilities. That or, like, cook a casserole. Really, Kuroo thought he should be exempt from his step because he spent the past two years of his life fulfilling it when he practically raised children as the captain of the Nekoma volleyball team, but it probably didn’t count as full credit in the magazine’s eyes because the fifty-nine foot tall pole bean known as ‘Lev Haiba’ could not be counted as ‘a child’.

Squeezing his phone closer between his ear and shoulder as he juggled his armful of items, Kuroo carefully pointed out as he readjusted the soy milk’s position underneath his armpit, “You know, I’m sure if you explained the situation to chibi-chan, he would be glad to help me out--”

“ _Kuro, for the last time I’m not going to ask Shouyou to rent out his little sister to you_ ,” Kenma rudely interrupted his unfinished sentence, his voice softly pitched as always but the exasperation was dripping from his tongue, and Kuroo would bet the soy milk under his pit that the beta was pinching his thin brows together with that pert little pout of his twisting his lip downwards. Kuroo could _feel_ Kenma’s pout through his phone, what a powerful expression.

“Dammit,” he cursed quietly at the blatant rejection, but also because his package of sunflower seeds was sliding down from where he had earlier pinned them between his elbow and waist. His upper torso contorted in a complicated wave movement in order to shift the package of seeds higher up his hip to prevent them from slipping out of his grasps, and, double dammit, she would have been the perfect candidate for the fifth step as she was spunky and adorable.

Well, there goes that plan. Kuroo idly checked the pre-packaged meals sodium contents as the register dinged after the old man finally decided on a scratch card and had his order ringed up. Kenma’s side of the phone call went silent before Kuroo vaguely heard that orange-haired shrimp suddenly speak up from the background, as if summoned by the mention of his name, and curiously ask why they had brought him up. So, the country kid had gone to the big city to see Kenma? The two were disgusting, and Kuroo saw their happy and mutual relationship as an enemy of all unrequited love.

Kuroo abruptly paused at that thought while Kenma hurriedly reassured to his cute little boyfriend that it had been nothing. _Love_. Kuroo nearly dropped the egg dish when his hands twitched at the abrupt four-letter word, and thankfully Kenma didn’t ask him why he went silent because he was too busy trying to convince Hinata that Kuroo hadn’t wanted to use his little sister in his own ploy. Yeah, love. He was in fucking love, and he wanted to violently smash his cranium against the convenience store shelves because he just couldn’t go a few hours without getting hit in the sternum with the goopey feelings he had for his best friend, huh?

The humiliating scene that had payed out after he and Bokuto nearly fell to their deaths when they jumped down from the tree replayed in his mind, much to his annoyance. It had been a full forty-eight hours but Kuroo still hadn’t calmed down from _the incident_ , as every now and then he’d remember it, remember his reaction, and the tip of his ears and the back of his neck would begin to burn red in keen embarrassment. He couldn’t pretend this was all just an unrequited crush anymore, and he recognized that he had to do something about it. He couldn’t live like this.

But, alright, how? What could he do about it? He hadn’t even told Kenma about this mega love realization of his, mostly because he couldn’t even explain it himself, and he had no fucking idea what he was going to do now. He wanted to confess --he wanted to do it in a badass way, so even if it went horribly wrong and Bokuto was unnerved by his feelings, Kuroo could look back at the scene and nod because he had confessed doing something fucking awesome like profess his love while skydiving or something-- but he had no idea where to even start, other than his ambitious skydiving fantasy.

And now, stuck with the realization that he ‘ _liked_ liked’ Bokuto, yet unable to face these feelings, Kuroo was still going along with the magazine in an attempt to hold onto something that felt familiar. The magazine was familiar. He needed this stability, where he knew that even now after that park excursion he could still follow the absurd steps and make fun of the legal disclaimers imprinted underneath the fifth step. When everything around him was changing, what with his body preparing for heat and his developing feelings, he needed that safe consistency.

The sad thing was Kuroo didn’t even know if this meant he was even taking the magazine seriously now. Was he treating the magazine like a joke still? Did he really think the magazine’s steps could actually help him advance in his currently nonexistent love life? Was porridge a real fucking thing or was that just something made in the movies? _He didn’t know_. He just needed to continue with it… for whatever reason, he’ll decide that later. All he knew now was that the magazine was acting as his safe ground.

So, here he was, buying an easy dinner as he racked his brains on how to act motherly in front of Bokuto, even though this was all so very stupid. His plan to kidnap the pipsqueak’s sister had failed, and he had yet to come up with another ingenious idea. He needed something good. And hell fucking no he wasn’t going to clean Bokuto’s room, what kind of psychopath did that?

Kuroo was deep in his thoughts where he had been contemplating running criminal background checks on the writers of the article because one or two of them must be serial killers, when Kenma’s voice brought him out of his head as the beta mentioned, “ _I know earlier you mentioned he’s sick and all, but I’m surprised he isn’t with you. He’s been attached to your hip ever since you stopped taking your suppressants_.” There wasn’t any disgust or any other negative emotion in Kenma’s voice, just a mild observation, and Kuroo would have tilted his head but he currently had his phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder and therefore his head mobility was limited at the moment.

Frowning, Kuroo cautiously asked, “What are you talking about?” With the way Kenma phrased it, the setter made it sound like Bokuto was acting protective towards him ever since his blunted scent wasn’t being masked by the suppressant medication. Which was impossible, because in Bokuto’s eyes Kuroo was just… Kuroo, not an omega. And, well, Kuroo will admit, if he was acting protective, then it was probably because unmated bros protect their fellow unmated bros, as decreed in the bro code, and there wasn’t any hidden romantic intentions.

Kenma murmured something then which Kuroo’s ears couldn’t pick up through the phone’s small speakers, though it did sound like either a strained ‘oh my god’ or a ‘corn on the cod’. Kuroo knew that, logically, the most probable answer was the former, but he personally wanted to believe that it was the latter. When Kenma scrounged up enough strength to continue, he explained with a rather obvious annoyed tone, “ _On Sunday, he kept glancing at you during volleyball, Kuro, and then at dinner he nearly steamed rolled over me to sit next to you_.” Ah, there was that slight disgust Kuroo had been looking for. “ _I bet this is the first time you’ve two been separated in days._ ” Kenma was so confident that his didn’t even make the guess a question.

Shit, it might, Kuroo realized as he blinked at the chicken katsu held in his hands, staring into the chicken with an intensity that was rather superfluous for the simple fried bread crumb coating. Now that he thought about it… the only time he hadn’t been by Bokuto’s side was when they were home in their apartment relaxing in different rooms. Kuroo thought back to just about half an hour ago when he had been leaving the apartment to make his convenience store trip.

He had stopped by the couch where a sniffling Bokuto, his nose bright red and his body surrounded by a mountain of used tissues and empty tissue boxes, relaxed after downing some Benadryl pills for the wuss had finally relented to take the wonderful and live-saving, man-made discovery called modern medicine. The alpha, all drowsy and pliant and soft, had been curled up on his side while his yellow eyes sleepily looking around through his bangs because he hadn’t gotten around to gelling his hair up with how poorly he had been feeling that day.

Kuroo had paused to tell the guy that he was heading out and to text him if something happened, all the while desperately restraining himself from reaching out and gently brushing his hands through the ace’s hair and perhaps out of his stunning eyes because goddammit, it looked so, so soft without the hair gel, before he remembered his sanity and turned to leave. Of course, at that moment before Kuroo could make his hasty escape, Bokuto had reached out and tugged on his shirt (technically Bokuto’s own shirt) and groggily asked if he could go with. Kuroo had jumped at the unexpected shirt tug and had nearly dropped his wallet on Mr. Grabby Grabs Hand’s head, before he calmed himself with a deep breath and sternly ordered Bokuto to stay put or else he’ll replace all of Bokuto’s thigh-high kneepads with thigh-high stockings.

Bokuto, after realizing his puppy dog eyes wouldn’t get Kuroo to fold because Kuroo was staring fixedly at the couch cushions to avoid said expression of his, promptly ignored his threat of which Kuroo was completely willing to oversee and implement, and had started to struggle to get up. In response Kuroo had pushed him back down onto the couch before turning tail and running out of the apartment with a yelled ‘ _you’ll never catch me_!’ before Bokuto could try anything else. It wasn’t the most mature way to solve things, but it sure as hell worked now didn’t it.

Kuroo furiously shook his head, which was a difficult feat with the current position of his phone, as if to both shake the past out of his head before he resolutely clarified with a hardened voice, “It’s not like that.” How many times had those words flown out from his mouth? “I’m telling you that’s all normal for us.” It was either that, or another really simply explanation because, as he said, Bokuto didn’t think of him like that. He was tired of explaining his and Bokuto’s friendship, how they were always close to each other because they just liked _being_ with each other, was that such a crime? Both Iwaizumi and Kenma now had seen their behavior and put a mistaken meaning behind the gestures.

But before Kenma could disagree or Kuroo could make more brilliant excuses for Bokuto, as per his specialty, his phone vibrated against his head, effectively and literally jarring him. Kuroo muttered a hasty ‘hold on’ to Kenma, who made an incomprehensible noise that could have meant anything, before practically tossing the pre-packaged meals back onto the shelf, grabbing his phone with one hand, and catching the sunflower seeds packet in the other, the damn slippery thing.

With Kenma waiting patiently on the line, Kuroo checked his phone to see he received a text from Bokuto reading ‘ _‘i came down wtih feverr and i thnik , we gotta canncel battng plans srry dude’_. He faintly heard Kenma speaking from the phone’s speaker, asking if anything was wrong, while Kuroo winced in sympathy. It sounded like the poor guy really did come down with the the full-blown cold, and Kuroo sighed a little in disappointment at the cancelation of their plans. He had made a bet with Bokuto that he would be able to hit at least seven home runs at the batting cage, but it was alright, the ace tended to recover quickly from colds, and they had the rest of their break to go. Anyways, he should probably get back home and help the big idiot--

Kuroo’s narrowed eyes flew open. Help the dude? Like… as in ‘care’ for him? Such as caring for him in a motherly manner? Caring for his sick ass the same way a mom would care for their children? Would that be considered being ‘mommy material’? Holy shit, why didn’t he think of this sooner, it was such an obvious answer and the editors and writers at _Omega Teen Magazine_ would eat this shit right up; it was perfect. He’d just have to slap a wet towel on Bokuto’s head among some other minor things and Kuroo would be set for step number five.

Kuroo jerked his phone back up to his ear with a rather intelligible, “Uhhh…” he drew out the syllable as he squirmed and shuffled the milk and sunflower seeds around in his arms until he could hold them against his chest with his free hand. “Sorry Kenma, that was Bokuto so I gotta go!” Screw the pre-packaged meals, what would his mother make for him when he was sick?

Soup! Or, yeah, a fucking broth-based dish of course. And, shit, apples, if _The Real Omegawives of Shizuoka_ taught him anything, it was that sick people loved apples, for some reason. Kuroo didn’t know exactly why, but he wasn’t going to question the reality television show as he only had so many points of references for what to do when someone you cared about fell sick. So that’s what he needed to grab, just some apples and ingredients for a broth-based dish he could spice up a little back home in their kitchen. And, well… cold medicine would probably help too.

Kenma made an indignant sound that somehow was able to properly portray his irritability at Kuroo’s unfeeling dismissal in just one harrumph, but Kuroo was too busy flying down the aisles in search of cold medicine to pay much heed to his friend’s aggravation. He speed walked past the gaggle of betas still standing in front of the refrigerators who were all now ganging up on the Kirin Brewery enthusiast, while Kenma sighed. _“Kuro,”_ this time the name was spoken with an ounce of warning along with a hearty spoonful of confusion, _“I can’t believe you’re going to hang up on me--_ ”

His precious childhood friend’s voice was cut off and replaced with silence when Kuroo pressed the red end call button and pocketed his phone as he nearly tripped over himself and came to a skidding halt into the medicine and first aid aisle, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind he promised that he would call back and apologize to Kenma later. Inspired and with a plan brewing in his mind, Kuroo was in such a hurry that he ignored the voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like the very Kenma he had just hung up on) that told him he was just keen on following the magazine’s steps to procrastinate confessing.

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The rest of the sun was finally sinking below the horizon as its last tendrils of light weakly spilled into the sky to illuminate the town’s skyline in a rosy array of pastel colors. In a certain apartment complex situated alongside the outskirts of a university campus, tenants were cleaning up from their filling dinners and preparing to relax before heading off to bed, a few of the tenants even taking to their balconies in order to watch the serene sunset. The tranquility of the sunset had enveloped the apartment complex, and the building was enshrouded in a peaceful atmosphere filled with the contented sighs of its tenants and running hot water to fill bathtubs.

In the entirety of the evening, the apartment’s serenity was only disturbed once around twenty minutes ago when one of the tenants had rushed up the creaky metal staircase up to the second floor with thundering steps that shook the whole structure. The black-haired omega had run up to his shared apartment’s door before, and after spending a second fumbling around with his apartment key and the two plastic bags wildly swinging in his grasps, undid the lock and promptly kicked the door open with a loud bang. But that had been twenty minutes ago, and the relaxing atmosphere surrounding the complex had returned as soon as the rowdier tenant had slammed his door behind him as he shouted out his return.

“Dude, you really went all out,” spoke a nasally voice that valiantly fought against the cold’s congestion, it’s pitiable owner resting in bed, sitting up like a king placed upon his throne as he overlooked his kingdom; his kingdom being the rest of his room and the vast wasteland of used and unused tissues alike that were scattered about on top of his bed sheets. Bokuto’s two-toned hair was still flopped over, gel-less, and falling into his half-lidded eyes that were drooping with tiredness as his body shivered.

The alpha snuggled closer into the comforter that he had wrapped around his shoulders, his teeth chattering every so often even though there was perspiration collecting against his temples, and Kuroo guessed that in another forty minutes the fever would shift gears and make him feel as if he was burning hot. All and all, Bokuto was in a rather pitiable state as he clutched the now empty bowl of Kuroo’s half-homemade oden closer to his blanketed chest.

The somewhat stuffy room was generally quiet as the fan’s blades lazily rotated with a clicking noise while the light from the street lamps below the apartment barely peeked out from the single window’s curtains. The only light turned on in the room was the lamp’s harsh yellow glow that illuminated the discarded piles of junk, also known as potential tripping hazards, that lay randomly around Bokuto’s room. The light also casted slightly ominous shadows onto Bokuto’s volleyball posters, making it so Kuroo could only see the bottom half of the players and not their faces that were shrouded in shadows, but Kuroo was pretending not to notice that little off-putting detail.

Wearing a cheap black face mask to protect himself from inhaling any of Bokuto’s disease cooties, Kuroo slowly looked up at Bokuto’s sudden words from where he had been concentrating on carving apple slices. Kuroo himself sat on Bokuto’s wooden, and frankly uncomfortable, desk chair that he had dragged across the blood-thirsty carpet and placed beside his roommate’s bed. Kuroo, as the supportive, wonderful, _caring_ person he was, had plopped down onto the chair, ready to watch over the sick alpha with a bowl of oden in one hand and a plate of apple slices in the other. However, he had only been sitting down for a few minutes and his ass was already sore, and Bokuto really needed to invest in a chair cushion, preferably one stitched with a word ‘love’ where the ‘o’ was replaced by a heart shaped volleyball because how fucking adorable would that look.

After he had nearly took the door off its rusty hinges when he burst into the apartment around twenty minutes ago, he had thrown the convenience store’s plastic bags onto the kitchen island and begun tossing various food items into a large bowl until his concoction of broth, boiled eggs, dried seaweed, fishcakes, and among a few other ingredients tasted at least palpable. After putting away his soy milk in the fridge and chucking the sunflower seeds into the depths of their barren pantry, Kuroo had also thrown the apple slices (the store only had pre-sliced apples) onto a plastic plate in an attempt to hide the fact that they were bought from some dinky convenience store. Kuroo had also snuck a few slices himself, just to make sure they were nice and crisp and not like those mushy apples that should be outlawed in every country.

Once he had prepared Bokuto’s meal, all he had to do was find the alpha who had mysteriously disappeared from the couch. The task had been easy enough, which Kuroo was thankful for because he wasn’t going to allow this opportunity to check off step five just slip away, because all he had to do was follow the trail of crumpled tissues to Bokuto’s room. He wouldn’t let the alpha slip away so easily, for he _was_ going to complete step five whether Bokuto liked it or not. Like a bloodhound caught on a scent, Kuroo had tracked the alpha down because Bokuto _was_ going to eat this comfort dish that Kuroo had poured his heart and soul into (along with several tablespoons of chopped and garlic and some healthy pinches of cayenne pepper to really just clear up those nasal passages), and Bokuto was see just how nurturing and motherly Kuroo could be.

Pausing in his intricate apple carving designs, Kuroo glanced at the nightstand where he had dumped all the medications and supplies after inviting himself into Bokuto’s room. Haphazardly stacked upon one another on the nightstand, right next to the lamp and Bokuto’s charging iPhone, were cold compresses, some dish towels for Bokuto to use if he got all gross and sweaty later, some cold and flu medications, the remainder of the face masks, and rubber gloves for some reason because in the rush of things the gloves had seemed like a good idea.

It was an impressive haul, and Kuroo bobbed his head as he said with a hint of smugness, “Only the best for the almighty alpha.” Bokuto deserved only the best useless package of rubber gloves and generic brand of cold and flu medicine. His voice was only a little muffled from behind the face mask, and Kuroo hummed lightly before returning his attention to his hands where he held a small serrated knife and the carved apple.

He had been going for the whole bunny apple thing, but it was a lot harder than it looked on tv and his large hands had fumbled with the small apple piece and knife. But if he squinted his right eye and placed a hand other his other eye while turning his head sixty degrees to the left, he could pretend that the apple was a vague bunny shape. His previous bunny apple attempts had been truly atrocious, so he had ultimately given up. Now he was just carving dick shapes into the apple.

Kuroo bent forwards and proudly placed his R rated apple back onto the plate perched next to a small mountain of tissues on Bokuto’s bed sheet to join the other fruit atrocities, before he felt Bokuto’s gaze linger for an abnormally long amount of time on him. It was like a weird and useless sixth sense, how he could sense whether or not the alpha was looking at him, and tiny goosebumps lifted the hair that dusted his forearms.

Kuroo unhurriedly leaned backwards as his lifted his head and met Bokuto’s feverish stare, his mouth already opening and asking a worried, “What’s up?” Kuroo placed the knife back on the nightstand as he cocked his head in question at the ace. Did the guy need something, or was there just something on his face? Had he just recognized Kuroo as mommy material? Or had the drugged-out Bokuto finally noticed that Kuroo had been carving dicks into his apple slices for the past three minutes?

There was a hazy sort of look to the ace’s usually alert eyes, no doubt a consequence of the fatigue and bone-heavy weakness the alpha was experiencing alongside the drowsy-inducing side effects of some of the cold medicines. Once sparkling, Bokuto’s golden irises were now dulled as he wormed his hand out of his blanket-cape and rubbed his red and irritated nose. Even when the alpha looked at Kuroo, he wasn’t even completely sure that the guy really _saw_ him. At this current point in time, the alpha was just a hunched over ball of lethargy and snot.

Only after what felt like an eternity but was actually just a hearty moment’s pause, did Bokuto pick up the empty dish and reach across the bed to stack it blindly on top of the nightstand as he settled on a groggy, “I can’t believe it.” How vague of him. His voice was scratchy and raw, and Bokuto then preceded to cover his mouth with a hand and hack up several lungs as Kuroo winced at the harsh sounds. The brash coughing fit lasted a solid ten seconds, and after Bokuto was finished nearly dying he shook his head before thumbing his chest with his fist (Kuroo didn’t think that actually worked or held any medical merit).

Once he had recovered and regained control over his respiratory system again, Bokuto sent Kuroo a drowsy, yet slightly mournful expression, as he finished his thought, “… can’t believe we’re almost twenty, man...” The alpha’s pitiful expression really matched his pitiful form, all wrapped up in his light gray bed comforter as a shiver racked his larger shoulders every few minutes, but he somehow managed to look even more pathetic when his back slid down the headboard and his head was nearly engulfed in his blankets.

Kuroo was a little taken off-guard at the sudden turn into sentimentality (he had just been carving dicks into apple slices, so he just couldn’t smoothly transition into a more serious mood without a five minute warning), but before he could get in any remarks, Bokuto dazedly continued as his gaze grew more unfocused, “Shit, man, soon we’ll be twenty and have mates, and oh god, Tetsu, you’ll have mini Kuroo’s running all over the place.” Even though the ace was clearly out of it with his drooping eyelids and the small amount of crust in the corner of his eyes, he still managed to somehow look horrified at his own damn sentence. Bokuto’s silvery eyebrows rose a fraction, like he was taken aghast as he imagined the havoc mini Kuroo’s would partake in, and Kuroo was rightfully insulted.

Scoffing harshly, Kuroo rolled his own eyes. Bokuto was acting as if the miniature versions of himself would tyrannize the neighborhood that he would eventually settle in, which was a completely baseless accusation because the worst Kuroo himself ever did as a kid was persistently annoy a certain black-haired bour with narrow yellow eyes and a penchant for secluding himself. Slightly irked, Kuroo rolled his eyes once more, to show just how offended he was, as he jeered, “I could say the same to you. I can’t even imagine all the noise tiny Bokuto’s would make.”

God help the ears of the unlucky bastards who got within a fifteen-foot radius of the miniature Bokuto’s. But, though they would have the innate ability to pop unsuspecting people’s eardrums, they would be cute as hell, Kuroo would give the imaginary children that. The kids would be constantly bouncing off walls and cabinets and shit and have Bokuto’s hair and Kuroo’s eyes because the kids’ eyes couldn’t be golden like the alpha’s or else people would think he had a scandalous affair with Kenma or something--

Kuroo’s mental progress stopped dead in its tracks as soon as his sense of sanity caught up with him. _What the fuck was he thinking about_? Had he really just thought about him and Bokuto having _kids_? Feeling the blood drain from his face, Kuroo eyelids fluttered close and held back a strained groan because what the _fuck_. Sure he was literally in love with the alpha, but never once had he ever gone so far as imagining kids with the guy, like that was just a line that was not meant to be crossed. It was just too… intimate? Was that even the right word? Creepy, maybe? Ugh, the hell was up with him, only thirteen year old omegas obsessing over their crush and actual mated pairs thought about having kids. Was this the damn heat’s influence or something? Yeah, Kuroo decided to blame it on the heat as it made a convienant scapegoat and he didn’t want to dwell on this any longer. 

A sense of shame and guilt slowly descending upon him for momentarily imagining something so embsrsssing, Kuroo opened his eyes and lifting a hand to awkwardly rub at the back of his hair line, and he refused to so much as dwell on his previous thoughts because, screw his upcoming heat’s symptoms that manipulated his once pure train of thought, he refused to act like that really sweaty thirteen year old omega who wrote their initials along with their crush’s into a notebook at least five hundred times, wasting perfectly good note-taking paper. He was only nineteen and a university student for fuck’s sake, and he shouldn’t be thinking about having kids; especially having kids with that bundle of mucus that sat on the bed in front of him and smelled like oden.

Kuroo looked back down at Bokuto with a slightly repentant expression, inwardly apologizing for the grave sins he has committed against the guy, but his sheepish smile slid right off his lips (not that Bokuto could see it anyways, considering the mask, but it was the thought that counted) when he noticed that Bokuto’s eyes had followed his hand to his neck. And that the sleepy alpha’s eyes remained there, even when Kuroo limply dropped his hand back down onto his lap. Softly, as if this was a secret for only the two of them to share, Bokuto admitted in a hushed tone as he gradually sat up straighter in his bed and let the blanket roll off his wide shoulders, “You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot…”

Bokuto hesitated then as if he was wondering if he should continue, though woozy and out of it as he was from the cold medication, and Kuroo patiently waited with a relaxed appearance that he hoped would encourage the guy to finish his thought. Kuroo didn’t have any clue as to what the alpha was pondering in that, probably mucus-clogged, brain of his, but something about the way his roommate never shifted his gaze from Kuroo’s neck gave him the smallest of inklings as to what.

Kuroo sustained the nervous tick that threatened to cause his leg to bounce in anxiety, and his patience finally paid out when Bokuto nasally revealed, “So, like, I know one day you’ll have a bite, but I’ve never got it --Ah, I mean I get it, dude, I totally passed biology so like our saliva enzymes and shit change omega scent glands and, uh, shit, to create the bond…” Alright, there’s a little more to it than that, but he’s not wrong “… but it’s gotta hurt like a bitch, why do omegas want it, man?”

With his hair down like that, Bokuto nearly looked like a drowned puppy, and it certainly didn’t help when the ace pulled his previously cemented gaze from Kuroo’s neck only to glance up at him through his silvery bangs, and Kuroo could only swallow roughly, momentarily speechless at both the unexpected tension in the air and the unanticipated question. He unconsciously straightened in the wooden chair though his sore ass protested, and his hand reached up and covered the back of his neck again like a damn reflex.

Almost absentmindedly, he gently pressed his fingers into the smooth nape of his neck as he imagined the sharp pain of teeth piercing the flesh there. No doubt it would hurt, hell, his damn cervical spine laid right underneath the thin covering of muscles, scent glands, and skin (see, Kuroo had passed biology too), and it already hurt if Kuroo just so much as pressed his fingers a little too hard into the skin. He should hate it, any reasonable person who isn’t into pain play would hate it, but, even so, his body instinctually shivered in blunted pleasure when he lightly raked his fingernails over his nape of his neck.

So why was the pain worth it? Oh, now that was an easy question. Kuroo exhaled heavily as rubbed his neck, his voice softening as told his body to stop being so stiff and painfully awkward, “People tend to forget that omegas are just as possessive as alphas.” God, it was so fucking true that it hurt, and Kuroo levelled his serious gaze with Bokuto’s sleepy one, unwilling to back down or take back what he said, as he murmured, “As an omega, I want to use my body in any fashion possible to tie down my alpha.”

As a heavy and thoughtful silence stretched between them, Kuroo put his hand back in his lap where his fingers immediately twisted into the fabric of Bokuto’s shirt as if he needed to hold onto something. He clenched the fabric in his fist, and, yeah, it was so weird how some of society have a habit of completely underestimating the borderline selfishness of omegas such as Kuroo himself. They were equally as stubborn and protective as their alpha counterparts, and was that some sort of Big Omega Secret? Was Kuroo supposed to reveal that tidbit of information to Bokuto? Oh well, he couldn’t take it back now, and he didn’t want to.

His death grip on Bokuto’s shirt only tightened and paled his knuckles when the alpha’s gaze returned once more to his neck because apparently he had a fucking giant neon sign on it or something that attracted Bokuto’s eyes. The blankets pooling around his waist as he scrunched his shoulders inwards, Bokuto huffed in astonishment as his drooping eyelids fought back against sleep and widened. “I just can’t imagine it, dude,” Bokuto whispered, soft enough as to not shatter the tension that lay thick in the silence of the room, and Kuroo quirked a brow. “I mean I know my heads all fuzzy but I can’t imagine a random alpha’s bite on ya.”

 _Ouch_ , that one definitely stung. It hurt to remember that Bokuto obviously didn’t think of Kuroo as an omega, and therefore the guy couldn’t even imagine Kuroo with an omega’s mating mark, anyone’s mating mark. Yeah, fucking ouch. Luckily, Kuroo was a seasoned professional at hiding his reactions. Hell, he’d been hiding his gross love for Bokuto for how long now? Hiding the reaction from the sting of Bokuto’s comment was nothing compared to the restrained proclamations of love throughout the last year. “Well too bad,” he snorted, though it sounded a little too clipped for his liking and a little too hurt, “’cause it’ll happen as this omega here is Prime Available Ass.” And just because he was secretly super miffed, he added, “Me and my prime ass are going to leave now, so eat your stupid dick apples and started feeling better.”

Kuroo braced his hands on his knees, his sore knuckles from the hand that had been clenching the shirt thanking him at the release of pressure, before standing up as he fought his lips from twisting downwards in an irritated frown --but, hold on, what the hell did it matter, his mouth was hidden behind the face mask, so fuck it, if he wanted to frown then he might as well frown. Bokuto was obviously healthy enough to make remarks that unintendedly pierced Kuroo’s heart like a fucking dagger, so the big guy didn’t need Kuroo around to made sure he didn’t choke to death on his own lung or carve any more genitals into the skins of his apples.

He had already side stepped and turned to leave when his wrist was grabbed in a vice-like grip, the sheer strength of it surprising considering the grip’s currently weakened and immobilized owner, and Kuroo turned back around only to see that Bokuto had taken his arm hostage as his fingers curled tightly around his wrist --tight enough to probably leave red marks if Bokuto ever decided to let him go. There was a rather serious expression on Bokuto’s face that caused his eyebrows to scrunch, and Bokuto lifted his other hand and rubbed at his bleary eyes like he was trying to rub the drowsiness away to focus. His valiant attempt was unsuccessful, and Kuroo merely watched as the alpha give up and choose instead to proceed with his original course of action and tug on Kuroo’s arm.

“You smell really good lately,” Bokuto admitted after a hard long second of staring up at him, turning Kuroo’s wrist in his grasp so he could gently nuzzle the delicate skin on the underside while Kuroo’s heart consequently leapt with a painful jerk because _the fuck_ was he seeing? “Like really, really, really, _really_ good, Tetsu,” it was spoken with a slight whine this time, the same whining tone Bokuto used whenever Kuroo didn’t let him win at Rainbow Road in Mario Kart. With a weak hum, the ace, paying no heed to the way Kuroo immediately stiffened, rubbed his too-warm cheek against his arm and offered, “Bro, what would happen if I bit you right now?”

Kuroo stared as his heart begun doing hardcore gymnastics that just could not be good for the longevity of his health. _The fuck was happening right now?_ His throat suddenly dry, Kuroo swallowed and only observed the scene in front of him as his mind desperately whirled in order to make sense of the very words that had just left Bokuto’s mouth. Different emotions swarmed him then, such as anger and embarrassment and even fucking arousal, though he ultimately settled on anger, which seemed like the safest bet. With something akin to a growl rumbling in his throat, Kuroo nearly spat, “It wouldn’t do jack shit because it only works if I’m in heat. Don’t joke about that, man.” Because it absolutely had to be a joke, there was no way it wouldn’t be. Bokuto offering to bite him? It had to be a joke... _It was a joke_.

This was serious stuff they were talking about. The enzymes in an alpha’s saliva altered the biological order of his scent glands, meaning it literally changed the components of his pheromones and tailored it to only attract that specific alpha. These were real life consequences they were talking about here, for both parties involved. Kuroo, as the omega, wouldn’t be able to accept any heat partner besides the one who bit him, and as soon as the chosen alpha got so much as a whiff of the altered scent, their bodies wouldn’t react to another omega either. It wasn’t right to joke about this stuff.

Kuroo’s breath hitched behind his black face mask, and with a quick jerk he was able to roughly rip his wrist from Bokuto’s grasp, much to the dopey alpha’s confusion. The feverish alpha blinked dumbly up at him, as if a little hurt and confused as if to why Kuroo would reclaim ownership of his wrist like that, and goddammit if it wasn’t the hardest thing to not immediately forgive every single one of Bokuto’s wrong doings because _look at him_. But Kuroo held strong as he reminded himself Bokuto was _physically sick_ , with the dripping nose and wet cough and the whole shebang, and he’d need to scrub off the first layer of his wrist’s skin to make sure he didn’t come down with anything.

Shit, shit, shit, what had made the guy do a complete one-eighty? Kuroo had just been lamenting over the fact that Bokuto didn’t seem to think of him as an omega, so the alpha wasn’t allowed to suddenly act like he did recognize his second gender like that, that was out of the rules. “Get some rest, your so out of it that your alpha nature is showing,” Kuroo shakily ordered as he ignored the clear disappointment on Bokuto’s face before the ace was sent head-long into another coughing fit, and he fled suddenly suffocating atmosphere of the stuffy room as Bokuto’s cough rang out behind him. _He needed to leave, now_.

And so he turned tail and fled, but not before tripping over a volleyball pump near the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s my personal headcannon that both male and female omegas are called ‘moms’ because, alright, y’all, listen to this
> 
> _When he felt a small tug at his sweatpants, Kuroo’s hands stilled from where they were carefully cutting the crusts off the ham and swiss sandwich with a dull butter knife, and he curiously glanced down to see a messy shock of white and black hair and large yellow eyes staring up imploringly at him. After achieving Kuroo’s attention, the four-year old raised his tiny arms and, in a demanding tone, said, “Mom, up! I wanna help!”_
> 
>  
> 
> 2/12/2019 *sweats harder*
> 
> No worries my dudes, sorry for the wait and thank you for sticking with me, I don’t deserve y’all. The next chap will be posted on 2/28/2019 along with a list of my grievances. alright maybe not the second one but if you wanna see it hit me up


End file.
